"It's just that that you——" I repeated after her, stopping, however, half-way.
Yet I felt somehow that that she had just uttered was no banal compliment. She was not thinking of the kind of felicitation that had been implied when she had sent Evie the teacloth. She had not asked after Evie, and was not, I knew already, thinking of Evie. And again I had that odd sense that she was protecting me, and would continue to protect me.
"Well, it's an odd question—the whole thing's odd, of course—but since you ask, I don't mind telling you. I am happy."
She turned under the umbrella eagerly, almost (I thought) joyously.
"You are?"
"I am," I emphasised slightly.
But still she did not mention Evie. Again we walked. Then:
"You are? After all—that?"
Softly from the background of my memory there came forward what I conceived to be her meaning. It was a humiliating one, and I hung my head humbly.
"You mean after—poor Kitty?"