could always be pleasantly observed; the men had apparently taken their way to the smoking-room; while the Princess, in possession thus of a rare reach of view, had lingered as if to enjoy it.  Then she saw that Mrs. Assingham was remaining a little—­and as for the appreciation of her enjoyment; upon which they stood looking at each other across the cleared prospect until the elder woman, only vaguely expressive and tentative now, came nearer.  It was like the act of asking if there were anything she could yet do, and that question was answered by her immediately feeling, on this closer view, as she had felt when presenting herself in Portland Place after Maggie’s last sharp summons.  Their understanding was taken up by these new snatched moments where that occasion had left it.

“He has never told her that I know.  Of that I’m at last satisfied.”  And then as Mrs. Assingham opened wide eyes:  “I’ve been in the dark since we came down, not understanding what he has been doing or intending—­not making out what can have passed between them.  But within a day or two I’ve begun to suspect, and this evening, for reasons—­oh, too many to tell you!—­I’ve been sure, since it explains.  Nothing has passed between them—­that’s what has happened.  It explains,” the Princess repeated with energy; “it explains, it explains!” She spoke in a manner that her auditor was afterwards to describe to the Colonel, oddly enough, as that of the quietest excitement; she had turned back to the chimney-place, where, in honour of a damp day and a chill night, the piled logs had turned to flame and sunk to embers; and the evident intensity of her vision for the fact she imparted made Fanny Assingham wait upon her words.  It explained, this striking fact, more indeed than her companion, though conscious of fairly gaping with good-will, could swallow at once.  The Princess, however, as for indulgence and confidence, quickly filled up the measure.  “He hasn’t let her know that I know—­and, clearly, doesn’t mean to.  He has made up his mind; he’ll say nothing about it.  Therefore, as she’s quite unable to arrive at the knowledge by herself, she has no idea how much I’m really in possession.  She believes,” said Maggie, “and, so far as her own conviction goes, she knows, that I’m not in possession of anything.  And that, somehow, for my own help seems to me immense.”

“Immense, my dear!” Mrs. Assingham applausively murmured, though not quite, even as yet, seeing all the way.  “He’s keeping quiet then on purpose?”

“On purpose.”  Maggie’s lighted eyes, at least, looked further than they had ever looked.  “He’ll never tell her now.”

Fanny wondered; she cast about her; most of all she admired her little friend, in whom this announcement was evidently animated by an heroic lucidity.  She stood there, in her full uniform, like some small erect commander of a siege, an anxious captain who has suddenly got news, replete with importance for him, of agitation, of division within the place.  This importance breathed upon her comrade.  “So you’re all right?”