THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
"Learning, you mean, so easily, that you are well."
It was as if Kate had but too conveniently put the words into her mouth. "Learning, I mean, so easily, that I am well."
"Only, no one's of course well enough to stay in London now. He can't," Kate went on, "want this of you."
"Mercy, no—I'm to knock about. I'm to go to places."
"But not beastly 'climates'—Engadines, Rivieras, boredoms?"
"No; just, as I say, where I prefer. I'm to go in for pleasure."
"Oh, the duck!"—Kate, with her own shades of familiarity, abounded. "But what kind of pleasure?"
"The highest," Milly smiled. Her friend met it as nobly. "Which is the highest?"
"Well, it's just our chance to find out. You must help me."
"What have I wanted to do but help you," Kate asked, "from the moment I first laid eyes on you?" Yet with this too Kate had her wonder. "I like your talking, though, about that. What help, with your luck all round, do you want?"
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