THE WINGS OF THE DOVE
her eyes. "So you think you'll kill me, in time, to prevent it?" She smiled, but he saw her the next instant as smiling through tears; and the instant after this, she had got, in respect to the particular point, quite off. She had come back to another, which was one of her own; her own were so closely connected that Densher's were at best but parenthetic. Still, she had a distance to go. "You do then see your way?" She put it to him before they joined—as was high time—the others. And she made him understand that she meant his way with Milly.
He had dropped a little in presence of the explanation; then she had brought him up to a sort of recognition. He could make out by this light something of what he saw, but a dimness also there was, undispelled since his return. "There's something you must definitely tell me. If our friend knows that, all the while———?"
She came straight to his aid, formulating for him his anxiety, though quite to smooth it down. "All the while she and I, here, were growing intimate, you and I were in unmentioned relation? If she knows that, yes, she knows our relation consisted in your writing to me."
"Then how could she suppose you weren't answering?"
"She doesn't suppose it."
"How then can she imagine you never named her?"
"She doesn't. She knows now I did name her.
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