Poor Mr. Briggs.  When she came in sight of the group he looked much too nice and boyish not to be happy.  It seemed out of the picture that the owner of the place, the person to whom they owed all this, should be the only one to go away from it unblessed.

Compunction seized Scrap.  What very pleasant days she had spent in his house, lying in his garden, enjoying his flowers, loving his views, using his things, being comfortable, being rested—­recovering, in fact.  She had had the most leisured, peaceful, and thoughtful time of her life; and all really thanks to him.  Oh, she knew she paid him some ridiculous small sum a week, out of all proportion to the benefits she got in exchange, but what was that in the balance?  And wasn’t it entirely thanks to him that she had come across Lotty?  Never else would she and Lotty have met; never else would she have known her.

Compunction laid its quick, warm hand on Scrap.  Impulsive gratitude flooded her.  She went straight up to Briggs.

“I owe you so much,” she said, overcome by the sudden realization of all she did owe him, and ashamed of her churlishness in the afternoon and at dinner.  Of course he hadn’t known she was being churlish.  Of course her disagreeable inside was camouflaged as usual by the chance arrangement of her outside; but she knew it.  She was churlish.  She had been churlish to everybody for years.  Any penetrating eye, thought Scrap, any really penetrating eye, would see her for what she was—­a spoilt, a sour, a suspicious and a selfish spinster.

“I owe you so much,” therefore said Scrap earnestly, walking straight up to Briggs, humbled by these thoughts.

He looked at her in wonder.  “You owe me?” he said.  “But it’s I who—­I who—­” he stammered.  To see her there in his garden . . . nothing in it, no white flower, was whiter, more exquisite.

“Please,” said Scrap, still more earnestly, “won’t you clear your mid of everything except just truth?  You don’t owe me anything.  How should you?”

“I don’t owe you anything?” echoed Briggs.  “Why, I owe you my first sight of—­of—­”

“Oh, for goodness sake—­for goodness sake,” said Scrap entreatingly, “do, please, be ordinary.  Don’t be humble.  Why should you be humble?  It’s ridiculous of you to be humble.  You’re worth fifty of me.”

“Unwise,” thought Mr. Wilkins, who was standing there too, while Lotty sat on the wall.  He was surprised, he was concerned, he was shocked that Lady Caroline should thus encourage Briggs.  “Unwise—­ very,” thought Mr. Wilkins, shaking his head.