omething else to talk
about.

"Now you see why I say I've been a mean dog. He had planned a
holiday in Italy with me, and I had planned a holiday in Italy leaving
him at home. I think," she went on, her eyes fixed on Rose's face,
"Mellersh has every reason to be both angry and hurt."

Mrs. Arbuthnot was astonished. The extraordinary quickness with
which, hour by hour, under her very eyes, Lotty became more selfless,
disconcerted her. She was turning into something surprisingly like a
saint. Here she was now being affectionate about Mellersh--Mellersh,
who only that morning, while they hung their feet into the sea, had
seemed a mere iridescence, Lotty had told her, a thing of gauze. That
was only that morning; and by the time they had had lunch Lotty had
developed so far as to have got him solid enough again to write to, and
to write to at length. And now, a few minutes later, she was
announcing that he had every reason to be angry with her and hurt, and
that she herself had been--the language was unusual, but it did express
real penitence--a mean dog.

Rose stared at her astonished. If she went on like this, soon a
nimbus might be expected round her head, was there already, if one
didn't know it was the sun through the tree-trunks catching her sandy
hair.

A great desire to love and be friends, to love everybody, to be
friends with everybody, seemed to be invading Lotty--a desire for sheer
goodness. Rose's own experience was that goodness, the state of being
good, was only reached with difficulty and pain. It took a long time
to get to it; in fact one never did get to it, or, if for a flashing
instant one did, it was only for a flashing instant. Desperate
perseverance was needed to struggle along its path, and all the way was
dotted with doubts. Lotty simply flew along. She had certainly,
thought Rose, not got rid of her impetuousness. It had merely taken
another direction. She was now impetuously becoming a saint. Could
one really attain goodness so violently? Wouldn't there be an equally
violent reaction?

"I shouldn't," said Rose with caution, looking down into Lotty's
bright eyes--the path was steep, so that Lotty was well below her--"I
shouldn't be sure of that too quickly."

"But I am sure of it, and I've written and told him so."

Rose stared. "Why, but only this morning--" she began.

"It's all in this," interrupted Lotty, tapping the envelope and
looking pleased.

"What--everythin