Mrs. Arbuthnot was astonished.  The extraordinary quickness with which, hour by hour, under her very eyes, Lotty became more selfless, disconcerted her.  She was turning into something surprisingly like a saint.  Here she was now being affectionate about Mellersh—­Mellersh, who only that morning, while they hung their feet into the sea, had seemed a mere iridescence, Lotty had told her, a thing of gauze.  That was only that morning; and by the time they had had lunch Lotty had developed so far as to have got him solid enough again to write to, and to write to at length.  And now, a few minutes later, she was announcing that he had every reason to be angry with her and hurt, and that she herself had been—­the language was unusual, but it did express real penitence—­a mean dog.

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 waived her hand.  “Disgusting not to share it.  I was a mean dog to go off and leave him, but no dog I’ve every 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.”