she'll do us. It makes a basis for her seeing you—so that she'll help us to go on." 

 Densher stared—she was wondrous all round. "And what sort of a basis does it make for my seeing her?" 

 "Oh I don't mind!" Kate smiled. 

 "Don't mind my leading her on?" 

 She put it differently. "Don't mind her leading you." 

 "Well, she won't—so it's nothing not to mind. But how can that 'help,'" he pursued, "with what she knows?" 

 "What she knows? That needn't prevent." 

 He wondered. "Prevent her loving us?" 

 "Prevent her helping you. She's like that," Kate Croy explained. 

 It took indeed some understanding. "Making nothing of the fact that I love another?" 

 "Making everything," said Kate. "To console you." 

 "But for what?" 

 "For not getting your other." 

 He continued to stare. "But how does she know—?" 

 "That you won't get her? She doesn't; but on the other hand she doesn't know you will. Meanwhile she sees you baffled, for she knows of Aunt Maud's stand. That"—Kate was lucid—"gives her the chance to be nice to you." 

 "And what does it give me," the young man none the less rationally asked, "the chance to be? A brute of a humbug to her?" 

 Kate so possessed her facts, as it were, that she smiled at his violence. "You'll extraordinarily like her. She's exquisite. And there are reasons. I mean others." 

 "What others?" 

 "Well, I'll tell you another time. Those I give you," the girl added, "are enough to go on with." 

 "To go on to what?" 

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