His intention, you see, was, without letting Grizel know what he was at, to make her think he had forgotten certain unpleasant incidents in their past, so that, seeing they were no longer anything to him, they might the sooner become nothing to her.  And she believed that he had forgotten, and she was glad.  She smiled when he told her to go on being masterful, for old acquaintance had made him like it.  Hers, indeed, was a masterful nature; she could not help it; and if the time ever came when she must help it, the glee of living would be gone from her.

She did continue to be masterful—­to a greater extent than Tommy, thus nobly behaving, was prepared for; and his shock came to him at the very moment when he was modestly expecting to receive the prize.  She had called when Elspeth happened to be out; and though now able to move about the room with the help of a staff, he was still an interesting object.  He saw that she thought so, and perhaps it made him hobble slightly more, not vaingloriously, but because he was such an artist.  He ceased to be an artist suddenly, however, when Grizel made this unexpected remark: 

“How vain you are!”

Tommy sat down, quite pale.  “Did you come here to say that to me, Grizel?” he inquired, and she nodded frankly over her high collar of fur.  He knew it was true as Grizel said it, but though taken aback, he could bear it, for she was looking wistfully at him, and he knew well what Grizel’s wistful look meant; so long as women admired him Tommy could bear anything from them.  “God knows I have little to be vain of,” he said humbly.

“Those are the people who are most vain,” she replied; and he laughed a short laugh, which surprised her, she was so very serious.

“Your methods are so direct,” he explained.  “But of what am I vain, Grizel?  Is it my book?”

“No,” she answered, “not about your book, but about meaner things.  What else could have made you dislocate your ankle rather than admit that you had been rather silly?”

Now “silly” is no word to apply to a gentleman, and, despite his forgiving nature, Tommy was a little disappointed in Grizel.

“I suppose it was a silly thing to do,” he said, with just a touch of stiffness.

“It was an ignoble thing,” said she, sadly.

“I see.  And I myself am the meaner thing than the book, am I?”

“Are you not?” she asked, so eagerly that he laughed again.

“It is the first compliment you have paid my book,” he pointed out.

“I like the book very much,” she answered gravely.  “No one can be more proud of your fame than I. You are hurting me very much by pretending to think that it is a pleasure to me to find fault with you.”  There was no getting past the honesty of her, and he was touched by it.  Besides, she did admire him, and that, after all, is the great thing.

“Then why say such things, Grizel?” he replied good-naturedly.