“I hope so,” he said. Then he bowed again to Wendell, and walked away to where his friends were sitting. Elizabeth began to crumble her bread, eyes downcast. Wendell’s voice made her look up.

“Cheery sort of bloke, what? Got a face like an unripe apple. Who is he?”

“One of Stephen’s friends,” she said unwillingly. The gaiety had gone out of her; Caryll had spoiled this day’s enjoyment. She felt that he thought her contemptible, and was sorry when she met him again, outside the hotel when Wendell had gone to fetch his car.

Cary spoke of the lake, and asked Elizabeth whether she had seen it in spring, when the rhododendrons cast their reflection deep into the water. Then abruptly, and not looking at her, he said,

“I met Stephen in Paris, Mrs. Ramsay.”

“Yes?” she said, not very steadily.

He was silent for a moment, but turned to face her presently, and held out his hand.

“I’m infernally sorry that things have gone wrong between you. I hope they’ll right themselves—eventually.”

“Thank you,” she said. She put her hand in his, and was surprised at the warmth of his clasp.

“I’m very fond of Stephen, you know. You mustn’t be offended at my—shall we call it officiousness? Gave me a bit of a shock when I met him in Paris without you.”

“Wasn’t he well?” she asked, tugging at her gloves.

“He looked very ill. Bodily he was all right, I suppose.”

Elizabeth said nothing.

“I can’t help feeling responsible,” Caryll went on, with a smile. “I steered you through the actual ceremony, you see. And, as I say, Stephen’s a great friend of mine. You’re not offended with me?”

“No,” she said. “Of—course not.”

He saw Wendell’s car, coming towards them.

“The worst of this place is that it’s so public,” he said. “Trippers always spoil beauty when they come in hoards, don’t they? I’ve seen half-a-dozen people I know already.”

He was drawling slightly; Elizabeth wondered what lay behind his words. She would have liked to ask him, but she could not summon up sufficient courage. And Wendell was coming towards them.

He did not like Wendell; that was obvious. It was as though he disapproved of him, probably because Wendell was with her. Yet there was nothing wrong in going out with Wendell, she argued. It was all perfectly above board, besides which nowadays everyone had men friends and no one thought anything of it. . . . Above board . . . Well, was it? She hadn’t tried to conceal anything; she didn’t go with Wendell secretly, but she had not told her aunt or her father of her close friendship with him. She hadn’t told Mr. Hengist either; she hadn’t mentioned Wendell’s name to him. Why, she did not know, for again and again she told herself, as now, that she was doing no wrong.