THE SACRED FOUNT
ing,' but what else, even in those minutes, were you in fact engaged in?"
"Ah, then, you do recognise them," I cried—"those minutes?"
She took her jump, though with something of a flop. "Yes—as, consenting thus to be catechised, I cudgel my brain for your amusement—I do recognise them. I remember what I thought. You focussed—I felt you focus. I saw you wonder whereabouts, in what you call our associated speculation, I would by that time be. I asked myself whether you'd understand if I should try to convey to you simply by my expression such a look as would tell you all. By 'all' I meant the fact that, sorry as I was for you—or perhaps for myself—it had struck me as only fair to let you know as straight as possible that I was nowhere. That was why I stared so, and I of course couldn't explain to you," she lucidly pursued, "to whom my stare had reference."
I hung on her lips. "But you can now?"
"Perfectly. To Mr. Long."
I remained suspended. "Ah, but this is lovely! It's what I want."
I saw I should have more of it, and more in fact came. "You were saying just now what you were full of, and I can do the same. I was full of him."
I, on my side, was now full of eagerness. "Yes? He had left you full as he walked away?"
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