It was not till after he had begun to smoke that he looked at her.  “Charlotte’s great.”

They could close upon it—­such a basis as they might immediately feel it make; and so they stood together over it, quite gratefully, each recording to the other’s eyes that it was firm under their feet.  They had even thus a renewed wait, as for proof of it; much as if he were letting her see, while the minutes lapsed for their concealed companions, that this was finally just why—­but just why!  “You see,” he presently added, “how right I was.  Right, I mean, to do it for you.”

“Ah, rather!” she murmured with her smile.  And then, as to be herself ideally right:  “I don’t see what you would have done without her.”

“The point was,” he returned quietly, “that I didn’t see what you were to do.  Yet it was a risk.”

“It was a risk,” said Maggie—­“but I believed in it.  At least for myself!” she smiled.

“Well now,” he smoked, “we see.”

“We see.”

“I know her better.”

“You know her best.”

“Oh, but naturally!” On which, as the warranted truth of it hung in the air—­the truth warranted, as who should say, exactly by the present opportunity to pronounce, this opportunity created and accepted—­she found herself lost, though with a finer thrill than she had perhaps yet known, in the vision of all he might mean.  The sense of it in her rose higher, rose with each moment that he invited her thus to see him linger; and when, after a little more, he had said, smoking again and looking up, with head thrown back and hands spread on the balcony rail, at the grey, gaunt front of the house, “She’s beautiful, beautiful!” her sensibility reported to her the shade of a new note.  It was all she might have wished, for it was, with a kind of speaking competence, the note of possession and control; and yet it conveyed to her as nothing till now had done the reality of their parting.  They were parting, in the light of it, absolutely on Charlotte’s value—­the value that was filling the room out of which they had stepped as if to give it play, and with which the Prince, on his side, was perhaps making larger acquaintance.  If Maggie had desired, at so late an hour, some last conclusive comfortable category to place him in for dismissal, she might have found it here in its all coming back to his ability to rest upon high values.  Somehow, when all was said, and with the memory of her gifts, her variety, her power, so much remained of Charlotte’s!  What else had she herself meant three minutes before by speaking of her as great?  Great for the world that was before her—­that he proposed she should be:  she was not to be wasted in the application of his plan.  Maggie held to this then—­that she wasn’t to be wasted.  To let his daughter know it he had sought this brief privacy.  What a blessing, accordingly, that she could speak her joy in it!  His face, meanwhile, at all events, was turned to her, and as she met his eyes again her joy went straight.  “It’s success, father.”