And to-day Wilton Caldecott's name had risen again in the discussion, when Julia had the air of insisting more than ever on the gift. It was almost as if she narrowed Freda down to that, suggesting that it was the only thing that counted in her intimacy with their friend.
"Yes," said Freda, "but the extraordinary thing is that I hadn't it when first he knew me."
"He saw what was in you."
"He said the other day he saw nothing. I was too bad for words."
"Oh, I know all about that. He told me."
"What did he tell you?"
"That you were like a funny little unfledged bird, trying to fly before its wing feathers were grown."
"I hadn't any. I hadn't anything of my own. Everything I have I owe to him."
"Don't say that. Why should you pluck off all your beautiful feathers to make a nest for his conceit?"
"Is he conceited?"