known she was being
churlish. Of course her disagreeable inside was camouflaged as usual
by the chance arrangement of her outside; but she knew it. She was
churlish. She had been churlish to everybody for years. Any
penetrating eye, thought Scrap, any really penetrating eye, would see
her for what she was--a spoilt, a sour, a suspicious and a selfish
spinster.

"I owe you so much," therefore said Scrap earnestly, walking
straight up to Briggs, humbled by these thoughts.

He looked at her in wonder. "You owe me?" he said. "But it's I
who--I who--" he stammered. To see her there in his garden . . .
nothing in it, no white flower, was whiter, more exquisite.

"Please," said Scrap, still more earnestly, "won't you clear your
mind of everything except just truth? You don't owe me anything. How
should you?"

"I don't owe you anything?" echoed Briggs. "Why, I owe you my
first sight of--of--"

"Oh, for goodness sake--for goodness sake," said Scrap
entreatingly, "do, please, be ordinary. Don't be humble. Why should
you be humble? It's ridiculous of you to be humble. You're worth
fifty of me."

"Unwise," thought Mr. Wilkins, who was standing there too, while
Lotty sat on the wall. He was surprised, he was concerned, he was
shocked that Lady Caroline should thus encourage Briggs. "Unwise--
very," thought Mr. Wilkins, shaking his head.

Briggs's condition was so bad already that the only course to
take with him was to repel him utterly, Mr. Wilkins considered. No
half measures were the least use with Briggs, and kindliness and
familiar talk would only be misunderstood by the unhappy youth. The
daughter of the Droitwiches could not really, it was impossible to
suppose it, desire to encourage him. Briggs was all very well, but
Briggs was Briggs; his name alone proved that. Probably Lady Caroline
did not quite appreciate the effect of her voice and face, and how
between them they made otherwise ordinary words seem--well,
encouraging. But these words were not quite ordinary; she had not, he
feared, sufficiently pondered them. Indeed and indeed she needed an
adviser--some sagacious, objective counselor like himself. There she
was, standing before Briggs almost holding out her hand to him. Briggs
of course ought to be thanked, for they were having a most delightful
holiday in his house, but not thanked to excess and not by Lady
Caroline alone. That very evening he had been considering the
presentation