_More Consequences of the Plan about the Gift, and of how Mr. Queed
drinks his Medicine like a Man; Fifi on Men, and how they do;
Second Corruption of The Sacred Schedule._
Queed's irrational impulse to make Fifi a small gift cost him the heart
of his morning. A call would have been cheaper, after all. Nor was the
end yet. In this world it never is, where one event invariably hangs by
the tail of another in ruthless concatenation. Starting out for Open-air
Pedestrianism at 4.45 that afternoon, the young man was waylaid in the
hail by Mrs. Paynter, at the very door of the big bedroom into which
Fifi had long since been moved. The landlady, backing Queed against the
banisters, told him how much her daughter had been pleased by his
beautiful remembrance. The child, she said, wanted particularly to thank
him herself, and wouldn't he please come in and see her just a moment?
As Mrs. Paynter threw open the door in the act of making the
extraordinary request, escape was impossible. Queed found himself inside
the room before he knew what he was doing. As for Mrs. Paynter, she
somewhat treacherously slipped away to consult with Laura as to what for
supper.
It was a mild sunny afternoon, with a light April wind idly kicking at
the curtains. Fifi sat over by the open window in a tilted-back Morris
chair, a sweet-faced little thing, all eyes and pallor. From her many
covers she extricated a fragile hand, frilled with the sleeve of a
pretty flowered kimono.
"Look at them! Aren't they glorious!"
On a table at her elbow his roses nodded from a wide-lipped vase, a
gorgeous riot of flame and fragrance. Gazing at them, the young man
marvelled at his own princely prodigality.
"I don't know _how_ to thank you for them, Mr. Queed, They are so, so
sweet, and I do love roses so!"
Indeed her joy in them was too obvious to require any words. Queed
decided to say nothing about the mitts.
"I'm glad that they please you," said he, pulling himself together for
the ordeal of the call. "How are you getting along up here? Very well, I
trust?"
"Fine. It's so quiet and nice.... And I don't mind about graduating a
bit any more. Isn't that funny?"
"You must hurry up and get well and return to the dining-room again,
F--F--Fifi--, and to the algebra lessons--"
"Don't," said Fifi. "I can't bear it."
But she whisked at her eyes with a tiny dab of a handkerchief, and when
she looked at him she was smiling, quite clear and happy.
"Have you missed me since I stopped coming?"
"Missed you?" he echoed, exactly as he had done before.