He had brains. She had 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.
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