THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
"Oh!" said Densher again.
"He's too bad almost to name, but he has come upon Marian, and Marian has shrieked for help."
Densher wondered, at this, with intensity; and his curiosity compromised for an instant with his discretion. "Come upon her—for money?"
"Oh, for that, of course, always. But, at this blessed season, for refuge, for safety: for God knows what. He's there, the brute. And Kate's with them. And that," Mrs. Lowder wound up, going down the steps, "is her Christmas."
She had stopped again at the bottom, while he thought of an answer. "Yours then is after all rather better."
"It's at least more decent." And her hand, once more, came out. "But why do I talk of our troubles? Come if you can."
He showed a faint smile. "Thanks. If I can."
"And now—I dare say—you'll go to church?"
She had asked it, with her good intention, rather in the air and by way of sketching for him, in the line of support, something a little more to the purpose than what she had been giving him. He felt it as finishing off their intensities of expression that he found himself, to all appearance, receiving her hint as happy. "Why, yes—I think I will": after which, as the door of the brougham, at her approach, had opened from within, he was free to turn his back. He heard the door, behind him, sharply close again
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