“Stephen dear, I wish you’d try and be more punctual!” she would sigh. “Or say when you’d like to have dinner. It’s not fair to the servants if you’re always late. It upsets everything.”

No one had ever expected him to be punctual; no one had worried him, or cared at what hour he dined.

“My dear girl, the servants are used to my ways. It never has upset them and I don’t see why it should now.”

“It keeps everything back,” she complained. “It makes it very difficult for me, too.”

“Well, I’m sorry, ’Lisbeth,” he said. There was finality in his voice. Elizabeth remembered that Mrs. Ramsay had said it was she who would have to do the adapting.

“Yes, that’s all very well,” she said, “but I do think you might consider me sometimes.”

He looked at her, then came and sat down beside her.

“What is it, darling? Why so cross?”

“I’m not cross.”

He tried to draw her on to his knee, but she shrank from him, and slipped away. He rose quickly.

“Elizabeth!”

She was trembling; she did not want him to touch her, yet she could not face the difficulties and the terrible trouble that would come if she told him so.

“I—I’ve got a headache. Pm tired.”

“But why did you flinch?”

“I didn’t! I didn’t!”

“You did. It’s not the first time either. For God’s sake, tell me, Elizabeth. What is it?”

No, she could not bear it. It was all so hard and so awful. The easiest thing was to smother your feelings, and to keep up the wretched pretence. She went to him.

“Oh, Stephen, how silly you are! I just feel out of sorts and otherwise-minded.”

The anxious look in his eyes, the little worried frown, aroused her pity, and the mother in her. She tiptoed, to kiss him, and stroked his cheek.

“Don’t be angry with me, Stephen dear.”

His arms went round her.

“Oh, my darling! Angry with you!”

Cynthia came down for the week-end, with Christopher; she was polite and friendly towards Elizabeth, but there was antipathy between them. Christopher was adorable, and Elizabeth loved him. He was so fat and seraphic, and so determined. When you did something to amuse him he chuckled, and said, Again! He went on saying, Again, louder and louder, until you obeyed him. Cynthia sat in a big armchair, and Elizabeth played with Christopher at her feet.

“You ought to have one of your own,” Cynthia said, quite gently.

Elizabeth pretended not to hear. How blunt Cynthia was!

But Stephen wanted it; Elizabeth knew that, and it frightened her. Once he spoke of it; she said, Not yet; I couldn’t. She was too young, she was not in very good health: so she evaded him.