Since then, his "scandalous" nightlife consisted of long evenings of reading. He been an ignorant street sneak and petty criminal. For years after his life had changed, he'd stuffed his brain full of knowledge in hopes of measuring up to Button's cultured ideals. Then Cabot had begun to find joy in the education itself and taught himself an eclectic blend of philosophy, ideas, history and reason.

Everything that Cabot read and everything that he observed in his new life only confirmed in Cabot's soul that Button was more than simply a kindly fellow, more than a loyal friend to many.

Button, diminutive, witty and ever-smiling, was nigh unto inhumanly good-hearted. An eternal optimist who managed to gently and persistently erode Cabot's streetwise mistrust. At first, Cabot assumed that his own gratitude had possessed him to place Button on a pedestal. He began to look for the hidden flaws, the secret cracks in such a pure, crystalline soul. No one was perfect. No one could be.

Yet Button was truly as kind and clever and generous as he had appeared to be in that first fatal quarter-hour.

Cabot only fell more firmly in love with him.

And Button had never noticed.

Attie suddenly popped up at Cabot's elbow. "Now," she said to Cabot meaningfully. "I brought the dress and I would've worn it as well, if Button hadn't given it to the bosomy one." She crooked her thumb over her shoulder to indicate Mrs. Oakes, who did look exceptionally well-endowed in the snug bodice of the very lovely gown.

Cabot debated whether he ought to argue the point, to claim that not having actually worn the dress negated their bargain, but he decided to stand by the spirit of the law, rather than the letter.

He slid his eyes toward Button meaningfully. Attie promptly stopped breathing. Cabot waited, amused to see her intention.

When Attie's complexion had turned from pale and freckled to an alarming shade of fuchsia (and still freckled), Cabot nodded. Attie allowed her breathing to resume, and stepped around Cabot to Button's side.

"I'm hot," she stated.

Button regarded his youngest friend with alarm. "My dear, you're terribly flushed! Sit down at once!" Button all but pushed Attie down on the bench. "I'll fetch you something cool to drink!" Button disappeared into the crowd of taller shepherds and farmers.

Cabot sat down next to Attie. "Here is what happened. A little over a year ago, I told him I loved him. He flinched from me. Blathered something panicky about our age difference and feeling paternal. He believes I'm only grateful that he rescued me from a short, painful life. It hurt very much. I thought leaving would help. It didn't, so I came back. He would like to go on as if nothing happened."

Attie gazed at him flatly. "That's incredibly stupid."