Married women ought not to flirt with their husband’s friends.

“No good pretending you’re a fool,” Wendell continued. “Frightfully wise look in your eye, don’t you know? Mysterious, an’ all that sort of thing.”

That was interesting, and a surprise to her. She looked up at him.

“Mysterious? Whatever do you mean?”

By Jove, she was a pretty kid! Fascinating. That innocent little face. Inviting mouth too, and pretty teeth. Lovely dimples when she smiled. Too jolly attractive by far.

“Oh, what I once heard a poet-johnny call ‘unfathomable.’ Lot behind.”

She walked on faster; the dimples peeped out.

“How silly! You’re not to say such things. You’ll make me vain.”

“You vain? Rot, Betty, rot! Imposs. Ab-solutely. Lucky chap, Stephen.”

“Why do you insist on calling me Betty?” she asked. “No one’s ever done such a thing before.”

“That’s why. Suits you, too. I like nicknames, you know. Cosier. More pally. See what I mean?”

“No, I don’t think I do,” she said primly.

Stephen went out with Wendell all the afternoon, and in the evening Nina came to dine. Elizabeth was worried about the trifle. There wasn’t enough wine in it, and she was afraid it would not go round. That distracted her attention; she was not at ease until dinner was over, and then she began to worry about the coffee, hoping that it would not be muddy as it was last night.

“Nina,” Stephen said, when they were gathered about the drawing-room fire. “What’s this I hear about young Hemingway?”

“Shut up!” said Nina. “Nothing at all.”

“Keep your hair on!” he advised her. “No need to give yourself away.”

She laughed, and flushed. Elizabeth suggested that they should “do something.”

After some discussion they played vingt-et-un and poker, because Wendell suggested it. Elizabeth lost, but she enjoyed the game because no one took it very seriously. It didn’t matter if you could not remember poker-rules, especially as Stephen and Wendell argued about it, and seemed to have quite different rules. It was a complicated game, Elizabeth thought, but it didn’t matter much if everyone had a different conception of its laws.

Wendell said it was a pity there wasn’t a gramophone. Nina answered quickly that she wouldn’t have come if there had been, and Elizabeth agreed with Wendell that they could have got up an impromptu dance if they had had a gramophone.

“’Lisbeth, would you really like one?” Stephen asked eagerly.

“Not if you hate them.”

“That’s just my pose. Snobbery, I think. We’ll go up to town next week and get one. Why didn’t you demand one before?”

“Mechanical music,” said Nina, laughing. “I shall go on being snobbish. I once listened to a pianola. I did really, Stephen.”