"The little thing," he thought. "Now, if it hadn't been for her ridiculous jealousy of Elise--if it hadn't been for Fanny--if it hadn't been for the little thing's sweetness and goodness--" Her goodness. She was a saint. A saint. It was Barbara's virtue, not Barbara, that had repulsed him. This was the only credible explanation of her behaviour, the only one he could bear to live with. He opened the sketch-book. It was Fanny, coming in that instant, who saved him from the worst. When she had restored the sketch-book to its refuge in the bureau and locked it in, she turned to him. "Horatio," she said, "as Ralph's coming to dinner to-night I'd better tell you that he and Barbara are engaged to be married." "She has told me herself.... That child, Fanny, is a saint. A little saint." "How did you find that out? Do you think it takes a saint to marry Ralph?" "I think it takes a saint to--to marry Ralph, since you put it that way." 4 "Dearest Fanny: "I'm sorry, but Mr. Waddington and I have had a scrap. It's made things impossible, and I'm going to Ralph. He'll turn out for me, so there won't be any scandal. "You know how awfully I love you, that's why you'll forgive me if I don't come back. "Always your loving "Barbara." "P.S.--I'm frightfully sorry about my birthday dinner. But I don't feel birthdayish or dinnerish, either. I want Ralph. Nothing but Ralph." That would make Fanny think it was Ralph they had quarrelled about. Barbara put this note on Fanny's dressing-table. Then she went up to the White Hart, to Ralph Bevan. She waited in his sitting-room till he came back from Oxford. "Hallo, old thing, what are _you_ doing here?" "Ralph--do you awfully mind if we don't dine at the Manor?" "If we don't--why?" "Because I've left them. And I don't want to go back. Do you think I could get a room here?" "What's up?" "I've had a simply awful scrap with Waddy, and I can't stick it there. Between us we've made it impossible." "What's he been up to?" "Oh, never mind." "He's been making love to you." "If you call it making love." "The old swine!" As he said it, he felt the words and his own fury fall short of the fantastic quality of Waddington. "No. He isn't." (Barbara felt it.) "He was simply more funny than you can imagine.... He had on a canary yellow waistcoat." In spite of his fury he smiled. "I think he'd bought it for that." "Oh, Barbara, what he must have looked like!" "Yes. If only you could have seen him. But that's the worst of all his best things. They only happen when you're alone with him." "You remember--we wondered whether he'd do it again, whether he'd go one better?" "Yes, Ralph. We little thought it would be me." "How he does surpass himself!" "The funniest thing was he thought I was in love with _him_." "He didn't!" "He did. Because of the way I'd worked for him. He thought that proved it." "Yes. Yes. I suppose he _would_ think it.... Look here--he didn't do anything, did he?"