So a man who'd been inside the bus we ran into performed the rescuing stunt.
His house was close by, and he carried me in there and proceeded to dose me with sal volatile first and tea afterwards.

He wound up by presenting me with an unvarnished summary of his opinion of the likes of me." There was an unwontedly hard note in Magda's voice as she detailed the afternoon's events, and Gillian glanced at her sharply.
"I don't understand.

Was he a strait-laced prig who disapproved of dancing, do you mean ?" "Nothing of the sort.

He had a most comprehensive appreciation of the art of dancing.

His disapproval was entirely concentrated on me--personally." "But how could it be--since he didn't know you ?" Magda gave a little grin.
"You mean it would have been quite comprehensible if he _had_ known me ?" she observed ironically.
The other laughed.
"Don't be so provoking! You know perfectly well what I meant! You deserve that I should answer 'yes' to that question." "Do, if you like." "I would--only I happen to know you a good deal better than you know yourself." "What do you know about me, then, that I don't ?" Gillian's nice brown eyes smiled across at her.
"I know that, somewhere inside you, you've got the capacity for being as sweet and kind and tender and self-sacrificing as any woman living--if only something would happen to make it worth while.