“Me?” Sally stared. “But I've never given you a photograph of myself.”
Ginger's face was a study in scarlet and purple.
“You didn't exactly give it to me,” he mumbled. “When I say give, I mean...”
“Good gracious!” Sudden enlightenment came upon Sally. “That photograph we were hunting for when I first came here! Had you stolen it all the time?”
“Why, yes, I did sort of pinch it...”
“You fraud! You humbug! And you pretended to help me look for it.” She gazed at him almost with respect. “I never knew you were so deep and snaky. I'm discovering all sorts of new things about you.”
There was a brief silence. Ginger, confession over, seemed a trifle happier.
“I hope you're not frightfully sick about it?” he said at length. “It was lying about, you know, and I rather felt I must have it. Hadn't the cheek to ask you for it, so...”
“Don't apologize,” said Sally cordially. “Great compliment. So I have caused your downfall again, have I? I'm certainly your evil genius, Ginger. I'm beginning to feel like a regular rag and a bone and a hank of hair. First I egged you on to insult your family—oh, by the way, I want to thank you about that. Now that I've met your Uncle Donald I can see how public-spirited you were. I ruined your prospects there, and now my fatal beauty—cabinet size—has led to your destruction once more. It's certainly up to me to find you another job, I can see that.”
“No, really, I say, you mustn't bother. I shall be all right.”