retty women, charming women by the score he had met
and properly appreciated, but never the real, the godlike thing itself.
He used to think "If ever I saw a perfectly beautiful woman I should
die"; and though, having now met what to his ideas was a perfectly
beautiful woman, he did not die, he became very nearly as incapable of
managing his own affairs as if he had.

The others were obliged to arrange everything for him. By
questions they extracted from him that his luggage was in the station
cloakroom at Mezzago, and they sent for Domenico, and, urged and
prompted by everybody except Scrap, who sat in silence and looked at no
one, Briggs was induced to give him the necessary instructions for
going back in the fly and bringing out his things.

It was a sad sight to see the collapse of Briggs. Everybody
noticed it, even Rose.

"Upon my word," thought Mrs. Fisher, "the way one pretty face can
turn a delightful man into an idiot is past all patience."

And feeling the air getting chilly, and the sight of the
enthralled Briggs painful, she went in to order his room to be got
ready, regretting now that she had pressed the poor boy to stay. She
had forgotten Lady Caroline's kill-joy face for the moment, and the
more completely owing to the absence of any ill effects produced by it
on Mr. Wilkins. Poor boy. Such a charming boy too, left to himself.
It was true she could not accuse Lady Caroline of not leaving him to
himself, for she was taking no notice of him at all, but that did not
help. Exactly like foolish moths did men, in other respects
intelligent, flutter round the impassive lighted candle of a pretty
face. She had seen them doing it. She had looked on only too often.
Almost she laid a mother hand on Briggs's fair head as she passed him.
Poor boy.

Then Scrap, having finished her cigarette, got up and went
indoors too. She saw no reason why she should sit there in order to
gratify Mr. Briggs's desire to stare. She would have liked to stay out
longer, to go to her corner behind the daphne bushes and look at the
sunset sky and watch the lights coming out one by one in the village
below and smell the sweet moistness of the evening, but if she did Mr.
Briggs would certainly follow her.

The old familiar tyranny had begun again. Her holiday of peace
and liberation was interrupted--perhaps over, for who knew if he would
go away, after all, to-morrow? He might leave the house, driven out of
it by Kate Lu