He was tidy, always. In his place Stephen’s hair would be ruffled and wild. Wendell’s remained sleek and shining, brushed severely back from his forehead. His shoe-laces never came untied, either, and as he never thrust his hands into them, his coat-pockets retained their slim shape.

Wendell looked down at Elizabeth, drawing the pole clear of the water.

“Comfy?”

“Awfully,” she murmured lazily.

“That’s good. You’re just the right figure for lying in a punt. Most women either look all leg, or—or like bolsters. You look top hole. So jolly graceful an’ all that sort of thing.”

She laughed, but secretly she was delighted at the compliment. The punt glided forward; Wendell spoke again, looking across the water to the farther bank.

“Heard from Ramsay lately, Betty?”

She was started out of drowsiness.

“No. Why?”

“What I mean is—is your separation permanent, or— or only temporary?”

“Permanent,” she said.

“Yes—well, you’ll be getting a divorce I s’pose?”

She had not thought of it; the word had an ugly sound.

“I really don’t know. How lovely those swans are over there!”

He took the hint and said no more. But he had disturbed Elizabeth.

They were slipping almost imperceptibly into a greater intimacy. It seemed natural to Elizabeth that Wendell should visit her as often as he did; she hardly realised how much of his time was spent with her, and certainly had no suspicions that he was taking advantage of her loneliness and depressed spirits to insinuate himself further into her confidence.

Mr. Hengist, meeting Wendell in Elizabeth’s room, afterwards said, Be careful, Elizabeth. I do not like that young man. Elizabeth was indignant on Wendell’s behalf. Wendell was kind, and jolly; he was after all quite young.

For how much had his youth to account! Little things that he did or said Elizabeth excused on this score. But she could not excuse his behaviour when he called to take her out to dinner and found her still dressing in her bedroom. He knocked on the door and asked, Can I come in? Elizabeth answered, No; I am just coming.

“Oh, rot!” Wendell said, and opened the door.

Elizabeth was fully dressed, but the clothes she had shed were scattered about in disorder. She stood before the mirror, gazing in open-eyed astonishment at Wendell.

“Charles!”

“Betty, you are a little prude!” he said, laughing. His glance wandered round the room; he strolled forward. “Do buck up, you adorable little idiot! Where’s your cloak?”

She was deeply affronted. Speechless she watched him finger the pots on her dressing-table.

“Betty, what topping scent you use! Hullo, is this rouge? Oh, sold again!”

“Please wait for me in the other room,” she said stiffly.

He turned to look at her.

“Why— Good Lord, Betty, I should think we’d got far enough for me to come into your room without you turning up your nose about it!”