The visit to town lasted until the New Year. Stephen had wished to go back to Queen’s Halt at the end of November, but when he saw how much Elizabeth was enjoying this time in London, of his own free will he suggested that they should lengthen their stay. They spent Christmas with the Ardens, and Stephen bore it well, on the whole. When it was over he said that another time he thought that they would either go abroad, or invite friends to the Halt. That was what he felt about Christmas with the Ardens.

Stephen began to grow tired of Wendell.

“That chap’s always hanging round us,” he said one day.

Elizabeth looked up quickly.

“Don’t you like him, Stephen?”

“Fairly. I get a bit bored with him. Don’t you? Rather vapid, but quite a cheery sort of blighter.”

“I’m rather sorry for him,” Elizabeth said. “He doesn’t seem to have any people, or anywhere much to go to.”

“Seems to have this place,” he remarked humorously. “I’m always falling over him.”

“Well, shall we not ask him to come so often?” she said. “If he bores you—”

“Oh no, darling! It’s not as bad as that. If he amuses you, and you like him, why should we choke him off?”

“He does amuse me,” she said. “I think he’s good fun.”

“All right, then. Long live Charles Wendell. I suppose we ought to ask him to join our theatre party next week. We owe him an invitation. Don’t we?”

“Do we? Oh yes! The party he got up at Claridges. That was awfully jolly, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I didn’t care much for the stray girl who came with the Parchetts, but otherwise it was a good show. Ring him up and ask him for next week. Or I will, if you like.”

“I’d rather you did,” she said.

The theatre-party dined first at the Berkeley. The Ruthvens were present, and Sarah, and Cynthia was rather short with Wendell. Anthony, however, was as pleasant as ever. He sat on one side of Elizabeth, Wendell on the other. Elizabeth thought that Anthony was a darling. She could not understand why he had married Cynthia. Elizabeth and the two men talked airily of nothing; Stephen and Sarah and Cynthia discussed Galsworthy and Conrad. Occasionally conversation became general, but the party split most naturally into two.

At the theatre Wendell sat next to Elizabeth, and whispered to her,

“Stephen’s sister—jolly clever an’ all that, but a bit alarming, what?”

She agreed whole-heartedly, but disloyalty was not one of her failings.

“She wants knowing,” was all she said.

“Oh, quite, quite!” he answered hurriedly.

After the theatre they went back to the Ramsays’ hotel for supper, and Wendell asked Cynthia if she did not think the play jolly good. Cynthia said, Spasmodically.