“Rather outspoken, of course,” he said. “Personally I like to hear a spade called a spade, though.”

“Undoubtedly,” Cynthia replied, “but it is not always necessary to call it a ‘bloody shovel.’”

That was awful of Cynthia; even Stephen looked annoyed. Elizabeth began to talk quickly about the electric-light signs in Piccadilly Circus.

“Cyn, you are the limit,” Stephen told her, aside.

“Sorry. Treacle-eyes arouse the worst in me.”

Stephen’s shoulders began to shake.

“Apt little devil! I never noticed them till you mentioned it.”

“You’re often rather blind,” said Cynthia calmly.

A few days later, Mr. Hengist, who had been abroad on business, returned, and lunched with Stephen at his club. He went on afterwards to see Elizabeth, and found her sewing in her private room.

“Well, child?” he said.

Elizabeth jumped up.

“Mr. Hengist! How nice of you to come! Did Stephen bring you?”

He kissed her, clumsily.

“No; he went on to the City. How are you, my dear?”

“Very well indeed, thanks,” she answered. “And you?”

“Not so young as I was. Are you reading this?” He picked up a book from the table.

“No; Stephen is. I can’t get on with Yeats.”

“A pity,” he said. “Still reading Victoria Cross and Charles Garvice?”

“Oh, I never did!” she protested. “How unfair! Anyway, I shouldn’t dare to with Stephen in the offing. The cigarettes are in that box at your elbow. Do have one!”

“I’d rather have a pipe, if you don’t mind the smell of it.”

She laughed at him.

“You know I don’t mind! You’re very polite to me all at once.”

His eyes twinkled.

“It’s a nice change, isn’t it? It’ll wear off, Elizabeth. I’m shy just at the moment. How do you like Stephen now you’re married to him?”

“Very much, thank you,” she smiled. “How do you like him?”

“I always did. I think he’s a man in a thousand.”

She opened her eyes at that.

“Do you? Why?”

“To have put up with you all this time,” he parried. “Tell me about your home. I don’t trust your father’s description.”

“It’s perfectly lovely,” she answered. “Tudor, you know, with an enchanting garden. Will you come down to stay with us in the spring?”

“Certainly, if you ask me. And don’t invite me to come when your father and aunt are with you. I see them any day of the week.”

It was just what she had intended to do; already she had begun to plan.

“Not? But— Anyone would think you didn’t like them!”

“Your aunt and I don’t hit it off very well, as you know. I’d rather come alone to see you.”