has old-fashioned ideas. He does not keep abreast of the times. He can
write plays, but he needs a man with a big brain to boom them for him.
So, far from being entitled to any credit for this afternoon's work, he
was actually opposed to it.'

'Then why did he pretend you had saved him?' she demanded.

'George's,' said Mr Mifflin, 'is essentially a chivalrous nature. At
any crisis demanding a display of the finer feelings he is there with
the goods before you can turn round. His friends frequently wrangle
warmly as to whether he is most like Bayard, Lancelot, or Happy
Hooligan. Some say one, some the other. It seems that yesterday you
saved him from a watery grave without giving him time to explain that
he could save himself. What could he do? He said to himself, "She must
never know!" and acted accordingly. But let us leave George, and
return--'

'Thank you, Mr Mifflin.' There was a break in her laugh. 'I don't think
there is any necessity. I think I understand now. It was very clever of
you.'

'It was more than cleverness,' said Mr Mifflin, rising. 'It was
genius.'

* * * * *

A white form came to meet George as he re-entered the veranda.

'Mr Callender!'