“And there’s surely nothing calculated to upset things more than a man butting in, where the same girl’s fragment of brain is worrying to fit something that doesn’t fit anyway.”
“Meaning me?”
Fyles smiled in his confident way.
“Seeing there’s no one else around, I must have meant some other fellow.”
Kate laid the lace aside, and looked up with a sigh. A gentle amusement shone in her fine dark eyes.
“Have you ever tried to make things fit that—just won’t?” she demanded.
Fyles shook his head.
“Maybe I can help, though,” he hazarded.
“Help?” Kate’s amusement merged into a laugh. “Say, when it comes to fitting things that don’t fit, two heads generally muss things right up. All my life I’ve been trying to fit things that don’t fit, and I find, if you’re to succeed, you’ve got to do it to yourself, and by yourself. It always takes a big lot of thinking which nobody else can follow. Maybe your way of thinking is different from other folks, and so they can’t understand, and that’s why they can’t follow it. Now here’s a bit of lace, and there’s a sleeve. The lace is short by an inch. Still there’s ways and ways of fixing it, but only one right way. If I make the sleeve smaller the lace will fit, but poor Helen won’t get her arm through it. If I tack on a bit more lace it’ll muss the job, and make it look bad. Then there’s other ways, too, but—there’s only one right way.” She dropped the lace in her basket and began to fold the garment. “I’ll get some new lace that does fit,” she declared emphatically.
Fyles nodded, but the amusement died out of his eyes.