The blood was warm in her. She
did not weigh her words. "I shouldn't like having my life saved. The
necessity for feeling such a vast emotion--I shouldn't know how to cope
with it."
"I will claim to have saved your other hand," he smiled. "You will be
quite grateful enough for that."
She noted that he did not hasten, behind pyramidal blushes, into the
shelter of a general disavowal. The cassock seemed to cover an
obligation to acknowledge things.
"I see," she said, veering round. "You are quite right to circumscribe
me. There is nothing so boring as the gratitude that will out. It is
only the absence of it, too plainly expressed, that is unpleasant. But
you won't find that in me either." She gave him a smile as she lowered
her parasol to turn into the shop of Lahiri Dey, licensed to sell
European drugs, that promised, infinite possibilities of friendship; and
he, following, took pleased and careful possession of it.
An hour later, as they approached No. 3, Lal Behari's Lane, Miss Howe
looked pale, which is not surprising, since they had walked and talked
all the way. Their talk was a little strenuous too; it was as if they
had fallen upon an opportunity, and mutually, consciously, made the most
of it.
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