She had a small drop at this, which was expressed in another pause, and she then returned to what he had just asked her.  “Oh yes, I quite believe you like it—­my always being there and our taking things up so familiarly and successfully:  if not exactly where we left them,” she laughed, “almost always at least at an interesting point!” He was about to say something in reply to this, but her friendly gaiety was quicker.  “You want a great many things in life, a great many comforts and helps and luxuries—­you want everything as pleasant as possible.  Therefore, so far as it’s in the power of any particular person to contribute to all that—­” She had turned her face to him smiling, just thinking.

“Oh see here!” But he was highly amused.  “Well, what then?” he enquired as if to humour her.

“Why the particular person must never fail.  We must manage it for you somehow.”

He threw back his head, laughing out; he was really exhilarated.  “Oh yes, somehow!”

“Well, I think we each do—­don’t we?—­in one little way and another and according to our limited lights.  I’m pleased at any rate, for myself, that you are; for I assure you I’ve done my best.”

“You do better than any one!” He had struck a match for another cigarette, and the flame lighted an instant his responsive finished face, magnifying into a pleasant grimace the kindness with which he paid her this tribute.  “You’re awfully clever, you know; cleverer, cleverer, cleverer—!” He had appeared on the point of making some tremendous statement; then suddenly, puffing his cigarette and shifting almost with violence on his seat, he let it altogether fall.

CHAPTER XVII

In spite of this drop, if not just by reason of it, she felt as if Lady Bradeen, all but named out, had popped straight up; and she practically betrayed her consciousness by waiting a little before she rejoined:  “Cleverer than who?”

“Well, if I wasn’t afraid you’d think I swagger, I should say—­than anybody!  If you leave your place there, where shall you go?” he more gravely asked.

“Oh too far for you ever to find me!”

“I’d find you anywhere.”

The tone of this was so still more serious that she had but her one acknowledgement.  “I’d do anything for you—­I’d do anything for you,” she repeated.  She had already, she felt, said it all; so what did anything more, anything less, matter?  That was the very reason indeed why she could, with a lighter note, ease him generously of any awkwardness produced by solemnity, either his own or hers.  “Of course it must be nice for you to be able to think there are people all about who feel in such a way.”

In immediate appreciation of this, however, he only smoked without looking at her.  “But you don’t want to give up your present work?” he at last threw out.  “I mean you will stay in the post-office?”