passage to put Aunt Maud off the scent. She would be wondering otherwise what in the world they found their account in. For Densher, none the less, the profit of snatched moments, snatched contacts, was partial and poor; there were in particular at present more things in his mind than he could bring out while watching the windows. It was true, on the other hand, that she suddenly met most of them—and more than he could see on the spot—by coming out for him with a reference to Milly that was not in the key of those made at dinner. "She's not a bit right, you know. I mean in health. Just see her to-night. I mean it looks grave. For you she would have come, you know, if it had been at all possible." 

 He took this in such patience as he could muster. "What in the world's the matter with her?" 

 But Kate continued without saying. "Unless indeed your being here has been just a reason for her funking it." 

 "What in the world's the matter with her?" Densher asked again. 

 "Why just what I've told you—that she likes you so much." 

 "Then why should she deny herself the joy of meeting me?" 

 Kate cast about—it would take so long to explain. "And perhaps it's true that she is bad. She easily may be." 

 "Quite easily, I should say, judging by Mrs. Stringham, who's visibly preoccupied and worried." 

 "Visibly enough. Yet it mayn't," said Kate, "be only for that." 

 "For what then?" 

 But this question too, on thinking, she neglected. "Why, if it's anything real, doesn't that poor lady go home? She'd be anxious, and she has done all she need to be civil." 

 "I think," Densher remarked, "she has been quite beautifully civil." 

 It made Kate, he fancied, look at him the least bit harder; but she was already, in a manner, explaining. "Her preoccupation is probably on two different heads. One of them would make her hurry back, but the other makes her stay. She's commissioned to tell Milly all about you." 

 "Well then," said the young 

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