nd talked; he talked straight on end; talked, not
literature, but humble, innocent banalities, so unlike Nicky who cared
for nothing that had not the literary taint.

It was a sign of supreme embarrassment, the only one he gave. He did not
mention Tanqueray, and for a moment she wondered if he had heard. Then
she remembered. Of course, it was Nicky who had seen Tanqueray through.

Nicky was crowning his unlikelihood by refraining from the slightest
allusion to the event. He was, she saw with dreadful lucidity, afraid of
hurting her. And yet, he was (in his exquisite delicacy) behaving as if
nothing had happened. They were going together to Miss Bickersteth's as
if nothing had happened. His manner suggested that they were moving
together in a world where nothing could happen; a world of delightful
and amicable superficialities. She was not to be afraid of him; he was,
as it were, looking another way; he wasn't even aware of any depths. The
sheer beauty and gentleness of him showed her that he had seen and
understood thoroughly what depths there were.

It was her certainty of Nicky's vision that drove her to the supreme act
of courage.

"Why aren't we talking," she said, "about George Tanqueray?"

Nicky blushed in a violent distress. Even so, in the house of mourning,
he would have blushed at some sudden, unsoftened reference to the
deceased.

"I didn't know," he said, "whether he had told you."

"Why shouldn't he?"

Poor Nicky, she had made him blunder, so upset was he by the spectacle
of her desperate pluck. He really _was_ like a person calling after a
bereavement. He had called on account of it, and yet it was the last
thing he was going to talk about. He had come, not to condole, but to
see if there was any way in which he could be of use.

"Well," said Nicky, "he seemed to have kept it so carefully from all his
friends----"

"He told _you_----Why, you were there, weren't you?"

It was as if she had said, "You were there--you saw him die."

"Yes." Nicky's face expressed a tender relief. If she could talk about
it----"But it was only at the last minute."

"I wonder," said she, "why he didn't tell us."

"Well, you know, I think it was because she--the lady----"

He hesitated. He knew what would hurt most; and he shrank almost visibly
from mentioning Her.

"Yes--you've forgotten the lady."

She smiled, and he took courage. "There it is. The lady, you see, isn't
altogether a lady."

"Oh, Nicky----"