Compunction seized Scrap. What very pleasant days she had spent
in his house, lying in his garden, enjoying his flowers, loving his
views, using his things, being comfortable, being rested--recovering,
in fact. She had had the most leisured, peaceful, and thoughtful time
of her life; and all really thanks to him. Oh, she knew she paid him
some ridiculous small sum a week, out of all proportion to the benefits
she got in exchange, but what was that in the balance? And wasn't it
entirely thanks to him that she had come across Lotty? Never else
would she and Lotty have met; never else would she have known her.
Compunction laid its quick, warm hand on Scrap. Impulsive
gratitude flooded her. She went straight up to Briggs.
"I owe you so much," she said, overcome by the sudden realization
of all she did owe him, and ashamed of her churlishness in the
afternoon and at dinner. Of course he hadn't 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.
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