"It isn’t that," she said. "I would take your money if I dared and be grateful for it. I would sooner borrow from you than from any one. But if I began to borrow, even from you, I should find it more difficult to keep straight. I’ve never said as much to anybody before, but I don’t want you to think I won’t take it because it’s you who are offering it." "I think I know what you mean. Once you’ve taken the first step you’re afraid you’ll go on slithering. But you’ve got to take some sort of step to get a job. De Freyne said we were shabby, Lexie; but if he could see you now! What’s the use of being nearly the same size as your best friend if you won’t let her lend you a dress or two? Answer me that. That’s not borrowing. That oughtn’t to hurt your pride. We used to swop things. And I’ve got a dress and a hat, and a pair of shoes in the other room that are too small for me. You must have them, Lexie. No one’ll look at you as you are. When managers see a girl looking shabby they only think of the reputation of their stage-door. If you’ll just let me give you a leg-up toward a job! Let me drive you round to the agencies in the car instead of walking. I won’t take ’no.’ It’s Maggy’s call this time." She prevailed in the end, forced the new frock on Alexandra and the shoes that were too small; stuffed other things into the parcel when she wasn’t looking—a veil and some gloves, a pot of Bovril from her sideboard, a tin of biscuits, a bottle of scent and other things. Alexandra found them all when she got home. They dropped out of the most unexpected places. There was a box of chocolates in one sleeve, some very nice soap in another. A silk petticoat was wrapped round a bottle of lemon squash. It was so like Maggy’s indiscriminate largesse. Where she loved, she was constrained to give, always with both hands. Before Alexandra left she showed her a photograph. "Fred," she said. "Isn’t he handsome? He’s got one white tuft in his black hair. I wish you knew him, Lexie." Alexandra had all along been afraid she was going to say that. "I wish you _would_ meet him." Her voice was wistful. "I’m so proud of you. I’ve talked about you to him such a lot. I believe if he were to see you he’d—think more of me," she added humbly. "Doesn’t he think a lot of you?" asked Alexandra, surprised. She put down the photo. The face, handsome, albeit brutal, did not appeal to her. "In a way. But I don’t think he really believes you’re a lady ... that a lady would be real friends with me. It’s difficult to explain." Alexandra felt sure she would not like Woolf. She instantly resented what she suspected must be his attitude toward Maggy. "You’d be doing me a favor," Maggy said. "Would you mind very much?"