ad examined him
cautiously whenever at dinner Mrs. Fisher forced him to turn away to
answer her, and she was sure he had brains. Also he had character;
there was something noble about his head, about the shape of his
forehead--noble and kind. All the more deplorable that he should allow
himself to be infatuated by a mere outside, and waste any of his
strength, any of his peace of mind, hanging round just a woman-thing.
If only he could see right through her, see through all her skin and
stuff, he would be cured, and she might go on sitting undisturbed on
this wonderful night by herself.

Just beyond the daphne bushes she met Fredrick, hurrying.

"I was determined to find you first," he said, "before I go to
Rose." And he added quickly, "I want to kiss your shoes."

"Do you?" said Scrap, smiling. "Then I must go and put on my new
ones. These aren't nearly good enough."

She felt immensely well-disposed towards Frederick. He, at
least, would grab no more. His grabbing days, so sudden and so brief,
were done. Nice man; agreeable man. She now definitely liked him.
Clearly he had been getting into some sort of a tangle, and she was
grateful to Lotty for stopping her in time at dinner from saying
something hopelessly complicating. But whatever he had been getting
into he was out of it now; his face and Rose's face had the same light
in them.

"I shall adore you for ever now," said Frederick.

Scrap smiled. "Shall you?" she said.

"I adored you before because of your beauty. Now I adore you
because you're not only as beautiful as a dream but as decent as a
man."

"When the impetuous young woman," Frederick went on, "the
blessedly impetuous young woman, blurted out in the nick of time that I
am Rose's husband, you behaved exactly as a man would have behaved to
his friend."

"Did I?" said Scrap, her enchanting dimple very evident.

"It's the rarest, most precious of combinations," said Frederick,
"to be a woman and have the loyalty of a man."

"Is it?" smiled Scrap, a little wistfully. These were indeed
handsome compliments. If only she were really like that . . .

"And I want to kiss your shoes."

"Won't this save trouble?" she asked, holding out her hand.

He took it and swiftly kissed it, and was hurrying away again.
"Bless you," he said as he went.

"Where is your luggage?" Scrap called after him.

"Oh, Lord, yes--" said Frederick, pausing. "It's at the
station."

"I'll send for it."