places, so that some of the panes were on the point of falling out.
Nevertheless, it had a brave look of carrying on triumphantly, for
tulips and crocuses were springing neat as ever from the turf and it was
over-hung by a green mist of trees just coming into leafage. They
entered and took their seats at a table from which they could watch the
pale flowing of the river through the spangled peace of the outside
world.

"It was lucky we broke down." Terry sat watching him with her square
little face cushioned in her hands. "You see I'm training myself to
believe," she explained, "that everything happens for the best."

"A comforting philosophy for the lazy," he smiled. "It lets us all out
of resisting temptation. Why resist anything, if everything happens for
the best? If it were true, it would give us the license to be as flabby
as we liked--which rather falls in line with what we were saying about
Adair. But who is she--this woman? You say you've seen her."

"You'll know soon enough for your peace of mind--probably you'll see her
yourself before the day is out."

"But can't you even tell me her name?"

"Her name's Maisie Lockwood for the present."

"For the present! Why for the present?"

"Because one's never certain about Maisie. She was Maisie Gervis once
and Maisie Pollock before that; there must have been a time when she was
Maisie Something Else."

Tabs couldn't quite make up his mind whether he ought to laugh or frown.
The suspicion had crossed his mind that this composed imp of a girl, who
could look so immensely the young lady when she liked, was playing a sly
game with him. However he pretended to take her seriously. "In most
social sets names are fairly permanent."

Terry laughed outright and looked away from him, following the river
with her eyes. "There's nothing permanent about Maisie. I think that's
her attraction; that's what makes people forgive her everything. She
starts each day afresh--it really is a new day for her, with no old
hates or griefs or dreads to drag her down. She has no regrets because
she remembers nothing. Whatever happened yesterday she puts out of mind;
she forgets everything except her willingness to be friends."

"Her names as well, according to your account."

"Yes, there's no denying that. Until the war ended, if you'd not seen
her for a month, you were never quite sure how you ought to address her.
Even now one's liable to make a mistake. To-day she's Maisie Lockwoo