And in Mr. Savage Keith Rickman she had divined a nature no less generously gifted. He could afford to take what she could afford to offer; better still, he would take just so much and no more. With some people certain possibilities were moral miracles; and her instinct told her that this man's mind was incapable of vulgar misconception. She was safe with him. These things she pondered during that brief time when Rickman lingered in the portrait gallery.
He saw her again that night for yet another moment. Lucia was called back into the picture gallery by the voice of Kitty Palliser, whose return coincided with his departure. Kitty, from the safe threshold of the drawing-room, looked back after his retreating figure.
"Poor darling, he has dressed himself with care."
"He always does. He has broken every literary convention."
Lucia drew Kitty into the room and shut the door.
"Has he been trying any more experiments in diminished friction on polished surfaces?"
"No; there was a good deal more repose about him after you left. The friction was decidedly diminished. What do you think of him?"
"Oh, I rather like the way he drops his aitches. It gives a pathetic piquancy to his conversation."
"Don't Kitty."
"I won't. But, after all, how do we know that this young man is not a fraud?"