romantic obscurity. "Yes; no doubt, in our particular
situation, time's everything. And then there's the joy of it."

She hesitated. "Of our secret?"

"Not so much perhaps of our secret in itself, but of what's represented
and, as we must somehow feel, protected and made deeper and closer by
it." And his fine face, relaxed into happiness, covered her with all
his meaning. "Our being as we are."

It was as if for a moment she let the meaning sink into her. "So gone?"

"So gone. So extremely gone. However," he smiled, "we shall go a good
deal further." Her answer to which was only the softness of her
silence--a silence that looked out for them both at the far reach of
their prospect. This was immense, and they thus took final possession
of it. They were practically united and they were splendidly strong;
but there were other things--things they were precisely strong enough
to be able successfully to count with and safely to allow for; in
consequence of which they would, for the present, subject to some
better reason, keep their understanding to themselves. It was not
indeed, however, till after one more observation of Densher's that they
felt the question completely straightened out. "The only thing of
course is that she may any day absolutely put it to you."

Kate considered. "Ask me where, on my honour, we are? She may,
naturally; but I doubt if in fact she will. While you're away she'll
make the most of it. She'll leave me alone."

"But there'll be my letters."

The girl faced his letters. "Very, very many?"

"Very, very, very many--more than ever; and you know what that is! And
then," Densher added, "there'll be yours."

"Oh, I shan't leave mine on the hall-table. I shall post them myself."

He looked at her a moment. "Do you think then I had best address you
elsewhere?" After which, before she could quite answer, he added with
some emphasis: "I'd rather not, you know. It's straighter."

She might again have just waited. "Of course it's straighter. Don't be
afraid I shan't be straight. Address me," she continued, "where you
like. I shall be proud enough of its being known you write to me."

He turned it over for the last clearness. "Even at the risk of its
really bringing down the inquisition?"

Well, the last clearness now filled her. "I'm not afraid of the
inquisition. If she asks if there's anything definite between us, I
know perfectly what I shall say."

"That I _am,_ of course, 'gone' for you?"