without making Nina commit herself to
anything vulgar. Women are never without ways for doing such things--both
for communicating and receiving knowledge--that I can't explain to you,
and that you wouldn't understand if I could, since you must be a woman
even to do that. I daresay they've expressed it all to each other simply
in the language of kisses. But doesn't it at any rate make something
rather beautiful of the relation between them as affected by our
discovery--?"

I had a laugh for her plural possessive. "The point is of course that if
there was a conscious bargain, and our action on Mrs. Brash is to deprive
her of the sense of keeping her side of it, various things may happen
that won't be good either for her or for ourselves. She may
conscientiously throw up the position."

"Yes," my companion mused--"for she is conscientious. Or Nina, without
waiting for that, may cast her forth."

I faced it all. "Then we should have to keep her."

"As a regular model?" Mrs. Munden was ready for anything. "Oh that would
be lovely!"

But I further worked it out. "The difficulty is that she's not a model,
hang it--that she's too good for one, that she's the very thing herself.
When Outreau and I have each had our go, that will be all; there'll be
nothing left for any one else. Therefore it behoves us quite to
understand that our attitude's a responsibility. If we can't do for her
positively more than Nina does--"

"We must let her alone?" My companion continued to muse. "I see!"

"Yet don't," I returned, "see too much. We _can_ do more."

"Than Nina?" She was again on the spot. "It wouldn't after all be
difficult. We only want the directly opposite thing--and which is the
only one the poor dear can give. Unless indeed," she suggested, "we
simply retract--we back out."

I turned it over. "It's too late for that. Whether Mrs. Brash's peace
is gone I can't say. But Nina's is."

"Yes, and there's no way to bring it back that won't sacrifice her
friend. We can't turn round and say Mrs. Brash is ugly, can we? But
fancy Nina's not having _seen_!" Mrs. Munden exclaimed.

"She doesn't see now," I answered. "She can't, I'm certain, make out
what we mean. The woman, for _her_ still, is just what she always was.
But she has nevertheless had her stroke, and her blindness, while she
wavers and gropes in the dark, only adds to her discomfort. Her blow was
to see the attention of the world deviate."

"A