dinger's life. She changed colour a little. "Do I?" she said, standing straight and awkward and looking into his face. "I'm . . . glad."
"I haven't thanked you for your letters," said Lewisham. "And I've been thinking . . ."
"Yes?"
"We're first-rate friends, aren't we? The best of friends."
She held out her hand and drew a breath. "Yes," she said as they gripped. He hesitated whether to hold her hand. He looked into her eyes, and at that moment she would have given three quarters of the years she had still to live, to have had eyes and features that could have expressed her. Instead, she felt her face hard, the little muscles of her mouth twitching insubordinate, and fancied that her self-consciousness made her eyes dishonest.
"What I mean," said Lewisham, "is—that this will go on. We're always going to be friends, side by side."
"Always. Just as I am able to help you—I will help you. However I can help you, I will."
"We two," said Lewisham gripping her hand. Her face lit. Her eyes were for a moment touched with the beauty of simple emotion. "We two," she said, and her lips trembled and her throat seemed to swell. She snatched her hand back suddenly and turned her face away. Abruptly she walked towards
