Rose stared at her astonished. If she went on like this, soon a nimbus might be expected round her head, was there already, if one didn’t know it was the sun through the tree-trunks catching her sandy hair. A great desire to love and be friends, to love everybody, to be friends with everybody, seemed to be invading Lotty—a desire for sheer goodness. Rose’s own experience was that goodness, the state of being good, was only reached with difficulty and pain. It took a long time to get to it; in fact one never did get to it, or, if for a flashing instant one did, it was only for a flashing instant. Desperate perseverance was needed to struggle along its path, and all the way was dotted with doubts. Lotty simply flew along. She had certainly, thought Rose, not got rid of her impetuousness. It had merely taken another direction. She was now impetuously becoming a saint. Could one really attain goodness so violently? Wouldn’t there be an equally violent reaction? “I shouldn’t,” said Rose with caution, looking down into Lotty’s bright eyes—the path was steep, so that Lotty was well below her—“I shouldn’t be sure of that too quickly.” “But I am sure of it, and I’ve written and told him so.” Rose stared. “Why, but only this morning—” she began. “It’s all in this,” interrupted Lotty, tapping the envelope and looking pleased. “What—everything?” “You mean about the advertisement and my savings being spent? Oh no—not yet. But I’ll tell him all that when he comes.” “When he comes?” repeated Rose. “I’ve invited him to come and stay with us.” Rose could only go on staring. “It’s the least I could do. Besides—look at this.” Lotty waved her hand. “Disgusting not to share it. I was a mean dog to go off and leave him, but no dog I’ve ever heard of was ever as mean as I’d be if I didn’t try and persuade Mellersh to come out and enjoy this too. It’s barest decency that he should have some of the fun out of my nest-egg. After all, he has housed me and fed me for years. One shouldn’t be churlish.” “But—do you think he’ll come?” “Oh, I _hope_ so,” said Lotty with the utmost earnestness; and added, “Poor lamb.” At that Rose felt she would like to sit down. Mellersh a poor lamb? That same Mellersh who a few hours before was mere shimmer? There was a seat at the bend of the path, and Rose went to it and sat down. She wished to get her breath, gain time. If she had time she might perhaps be able to catch up the leaping Lotty, and perhaps be able to stop her before she committed herself to what she probably presently would be sorry for. Mellersh at San Salvatore? Mellersh, from whom Lotty had taken such pains so recently to escape? “I _see_ him here,” said Lotty, as if in answer to her thoughts. Rose looked at her with real concern: for every time Lotty said in that convinced voice, “I _see_,” what she saw came true. Then it was to be supposed that Mr. Wilkins too would presently come true. “I wish,” said Rose anxiously, “I understood you.”