Stephen’s book was published in June. Elizabeth bought a copy, and went every week to a Free Library to look for reviews. Although she did not love Stephen she could still be interested in his work.

It was in July that she met Wendell. She was walking on Regent Street when his car came up behind her, and stopped.

“Betty! I say, old girl! Betty!”

She turned swiftly, flushed, and stood still.

“Oh—hullo, Charles,” she said nervously.

Wendell opened the door of the car for her to enter.

“By Jove, what a splash of luck, what? Get in, Bets; I haven’t seen you for ages. Where are you living now?”

So he knew? She wondered how, and whether everyone knew.

“I—I haven’t time, Charles. I—I’ve got some shopping to do.”

“Rot!” he said. “No, come on, Betty, you must!”

She got into the car. It slid forward, up the street.

“My dear old thing, I’m simply delighted to see you!” Wendell said. “Awfully sorry to hear that you and Stephen have separated, an’ all that sort of thing. Where are you living?”

“Just off Baker Street. How did you hear about— about Stephen and me?”

“Well, really, I don’t know,” he said. “How does one hear these things? Rumour, what? Soon gets about, you know.”

She did not know. She thought it horrible.

“I see,” she said. “What have you been doing since I last saw you?”

“Oh, the usual sort of things. Just got back from a month’s fishing. Topping good sport. Look here, Betty, I’m damned glad to see you again! What about a dinner to-night and a show?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—thank you very much!”

“Why not? Going out already?”

“No, but—”

“Well, that’s settled then. Mustn’t go into retirement, Betty. Not at all good for you.”

“I’m not,” she said. “Only I don’t really feel much like—”

“Oh, I say, Betty, do come! Be a sport! Why won’t you?”

“It’s awfully nice of you, Charles, but—”

“Do!” he coaxed, laying one hand on hers. “I haven’t seen you for such ages!”

She wanted to go. She liked Wendell, and, after all, what harm was there in it?

“Very well, I will. Thanks very much.”

“I’ll call for you at seven then,” he said promptly. “What’s the address?”

She told him. How nice it was to think she was going to dinner and a theatre again!

She enjoyed the evening; Wendell made her laugh, and the dinner was exceedingly good. He took her home in a taxi afterwards, and parted from her on her doorstep, saying that he’d be round to see her to-morrow. He wasn’t going to lose sight of her again.

He came in time for tea, and found her typewriting. Mrs. Cotton conducted him to Elizabeth’s sitting-room, because it was “the gal’s” afternoon out.