“The Droitwiches,” interrupted Mrs. Fisher, “are neither here nor there. Duties undertaken should be performed. I don’t intend my money to be squandered for the sake of any Droitwiches.” A headstrong old lady. Perhaps not so easy to deal with as he had hoped. But how wealthy. Only the consciousness of great wealth would make her snap her fingers in this manner at the Droitwiches. Lotty, on being questioned, had been vague about her circumstances, and had described her house as a mausoleum with gold-fish swimming about in it; but now he was sure she was more than very well off. Still, he wished he had not joined her at this moment, for he had no sort of desire to be present at such a spectacle as the scolding of Lady Caroline Dester. Again, however, he was reckoning without Scrap. Whatever she felt when she looked up and beheld Mr. Wilkins discovering her corner on the very first morning, nothing but angelicness appeared on her face. She took her feet off the parapet on Mrs. Fisher’s sitting down on it, and listening gravely to her opening remarks as to her not having any money to fling about in reckless and uncontrolled household expenditure, interrupted her flow by pulling one of the cushions from behind her head and offering it to her. “Sit on this,” said Scrap, holding it out. “You’ll be more comfortable.” Mr. Wilkins leapt to relieve her of it. “Oh, thanks,” said Mrs. Fisher, interrupted. It was difficult to get into the swing again. Mr. Wilkins inserted the cushion solicitously between the slightly raised Mrs. Fisher and the stone of the parapet, and again she had to say “Thanks.” It was interrupted. Besides, Lady Caroline said nothing in her defence; she only looked at her, and listened with the face of an attentive angel. It seemed to Mr. Wilkins that it must be difficult to scold a Dester who looked like that and so exquisitely said nothing. Mrs. Fisher, he was glad to see, gradually found it difficult herself, for her severity slackened, and she ended by saying lamely, “You ought to have told me you were not doing it.” “I didn’t know you thought I was,” said the lovely voice. “I would now like to know,” said Mrs. Fisher, “what you propose to do for the rest of the time here.” “Nothing,” said Scrap, smiling. “Nothing? Do you mean to say—” “If I may be allowed, ladies,” interposed Mr. Wilkins in his suavest professional manner, “to make a suggestion”—they both looked at him, and remembering him as they first saw him felt indulgent—“I would advise you not to spoil a delightful holiday with worries over housekeeping.” “Exactly,” said Mrs. Fisher. “It is what I intend to avoid.”