She laughed, and feeling very daring, selected a gold-tipped cigarette. Wendell lit it for her, she tried not to feel distaste at smoking a cigarette his lips had touched, and puffed away valiantly. It was not very nice, she thought, and the smoke would get into her eyes, hut she persevered. Wendell laughed at her, and said that she looked too pricelessly funny for words. He stayed until close upon midnight, entertaining her with anecdotes and the more amusing of his war experiences. Time sped by unheeded, until the aggressive clock on the mantelpiece struck the quarter. Then Wendell jumped up, and said, By George, he’d no idea it was so late. Elizabeth followed him downstairs to bolt the front door. He lingered for a moment on the doorstep; she wondered why, and suddenly felt nervous. Then Wendell said, Well, cherio, old thing; and hurried away. Elizabeth thought, What a fool I am to be nervous of Charles.

When she entered her sitting-room again she found that Wendell had left his cigarette-case on the table. She determined to smoke again to-morrow.

Lawrence and Miss Arden came to tea next day, and when Lawrence kissed Elizabeth, he sighed, and shook his head. Miss Arden sat beside Elizabeth on the sofa, and held her hand. When she visited Elizabeth alone, she complained of Elizabeth’s behaviour; when Lawrence was there she was staunch in her championship of Elizabeth’s cause.

“My darling, you’re looking so tired!” she said. “Quite pale and worn-out. I do wish you would come away with me next week.”

Mrs. Cotton shaking the tea cloth on to the table, and solicitously patting down the corners, joined in the conversation. She could never resist it; on the days when Elizabeth entertained, the “gal” was not permitted to lay the tea.

“That’s what I says, ma’am, begging your pardon. Well, reely, Mrs. Ramsay’s such a worker, you’d hardly believe it. I’m shore it fair goes to my ’ea,rt sometimes to see ’er banging away at that typewriter! ‘Well,’ I says, ‘ma’am, I do wish as how you’d go and lay down for a bit on your bed. There’s nothing like a good lay down every afternoon, is there, ma’am?’”

“No,” Miss Arden said frigidly. “What are you making, Elizabeth? Another jumper?”

“Rather a pretty colour, isn’t it?” Elizabeth answered. “I like knitting. It’s so restful.”

Mrs. Cotton waited for a moment, fidgeting with the tray-cloth. Feeling, however, that there was no excuse for remaining any longer, she went out, shutting the door very slowly and softly behind her.

“A most objectionable woman!” Lawrence said. “Pushing herself into the conversation like that. And why will that class say ‘lay’ instead of ‘lie’? Nothing irritates me more.”

“It is rather awful, isn’t it?” Elizabeth agreed. “Stephen would say, ‘She must think you’re oviparous.’”