He helped her in, knowing that she disapproved of him. A natural premonition told him that she would not be desirous of meeting him again unless he could convince her he was aware of his error and regretted it. He was distinctly taken with her, more now than ever that her fastidiousness made her difficult. He leant toward her and spoke almost anxiously. "I’d like to meet you again. Can’t you dine with me one night before you go? I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.... I made a mistake. I thought you were Maggy’s sort." The apology, so disloyal to Maggy, as well as insulting to herself, inflamed her. "You unspeakable cad!" she said. Woolf returned to Maggy rather red in the face. She had left the restaurant and was waiting for him in her sitting-room. She was afraid to reproach him, and yet anxious that he should know he had blundered. She was terribly disappointed. "You shocked Lexie," she told him, and waited to see what he would say. He made no answer. "You thought her pretty?" she went on. Woolf was biting his finger-nails savagely. "Didn’t you?" she persisted. "Oh, yes. Very pretty." He had been repulsed, snubbed, and was rankling under the smart of it. It made him turn to the girl who had nothing but devotion for him for a salve to his wounded vanity. The girl who had just gone was provokingly desirable because of her cool eyes, her scornful mouth, her aloofness, the disdain of her. But Maggy was all his, living for him. He took her in his arms almost savagely. "You’re worth ten of her," he exclaimed; and in his irritation believed what he said. Her body relaxed submissively in the grip of his arms. "Oh, my God, how I love you!" she murmured, trembling. She laid her cheek against his and stroked his hand. "Will you do me a favor, Fred?" she went on presently, unconsciously taking advantage of what she regarded as a soft mood. "What is it? A bit more money than I give you?" "No. I don’t want more money. I’ve got enough. I’ve never been greedy that way, have I?" "No. More silly you. Women should make hay while the sun shines." She looked at him with soft eyes. "When the sun shines some women only want to let it warm them through and through." "Well, what’s the favor?" She pointed at the basket containing Mrs. Slightly and her offspring, which Woolf had not noticed. "You asked me to have them drowned. I’d rather find homes for them. Please, D.D.?" "But, good Lord—why?" She drew away from him, walked over to the basket, and leant over it, as if communing with Mrs. Slightly.