Grace, who had been erecting barriers against her grief all day, was taken by surprise. She would have none of the earthquake of emotion which Orlando’s unexpected gesture unloosed. She disengaged herself stiffly, turned her back on him, and said rather gruffly, as if the episode had not taken place, “Where’s Ellen with our tea?”

He watched the quick angular stride, the decision of her as she pulled the bell cord, watched her with admiration and a slightly disillusioned smile. He had made a huge effort—now it was done he knew how huge—to raise his exhausted self to meet her in the fullness of their friendship, and she had been unable to receive his gift. Strange fascinating little person who, so avidly hungry for life, consistently pushed it away and hid herself from it—even now when, God knows, they were naked enough, stripped down to the quick.

“I tried to get hold of George Hastings, Edward’s student, you know—he didn’t even know who I was,” she said irritably. “He refused to talk, hung up on me. It was most extraordinary.”

“Do you think so?” Orlando asked with slightly barbed gentleness. “Do you really think so?” The tide of feeling was ebbing away in him now. He felt so shaky that he sat down.

“Yes.” She looked down at him, her eyes blazing, but was it grief? Was it anger? “I do think so—under the circumstances.”

“Probably he couldn’t talk. People react in different ways, Grace. Poor boy,” and he sighed.

“He was rude,” she said inexorably.

“Desperate people are often rude, my dear.” And now it was his turn to flash her a severe look. “Edward often was.”

Ellen, with the tea tray, slipped in like a beneficent shade. Orlando was touched to see that she had obviously been weeping.

“It’s hard for us all, Ellen, isn’t it?” he said gently.

“Yes, sir.” She broke into a sob as she disappeared down the hall.

“Ellen is a fountain of tears,” Grace said sharply, as if she were not at all pleased by such exhibitions of feeling. She busied herself with pouring out his tea exactly as he liked it, with passing a plate of very thin bread and butter. She did not look at him, and he wondered how long she would be able to maintain her defenses, how long on this strange afternoon he would find himself regarding her as a psychological curiosity, rather than as his oldest dearest friend.