The tiger stepping down his blue plaque. The one thing in the room that nothing could influence. All the other single beautiful things change. They are beautiful, for a moment, again and again; giving out their expression, and presently frozen stiff, having no expression. The blue plaque, intense fathomless eastern blue, the thick spiky grey-green sharply shaped leaves, going up forever, the heavy striped beast forever curving through, his great paw always newly set on the base of the plaque; inexhaustible, never looked at enough; always bringing the same joy.... If ever the memory of this room fades away, the blue plaque will remain.
Mr. Hancock was coming upstairs. In a moment she would know whether any price had been paid; any invisible appointment irrevocably missed.
“Good morning.” The everyday tone. Not the tone of welcome after a holiday.
“Good morning. I’m so sorry I could not get back yesterday.”
“Yes ... I suppose it could not be helped.” He was annoyed. Perhaps even a little suspicious....
“You see, my brother-in-law thought I was still on holiday and free to take my sister home.”
“I trust it is not anything serious.”
“It was just one of her attacks.” Suppose Sarah should have one, at this moment? Suppose it was Sarah who was paying for her escapade? She summoned her despairingly, explaining ... saw her instant approval and her private astonishment at the reason for the deceit.
Supported by Sarah she rounded off her story.
“I see,” said Mr. Hancock pleasantly; weighing, accepting. She stood before him seeing the incident as he would imagine it. It was growing true in her mind. Presently she would be looking back on it. This was how criminals got themselves mixed up....