“I’ll ring you up,” Cynthia said. “We’ll fix a date.” She rose, smiled, and walked away.

“Do go and have tea with her!” Stephen said. “She’s rather startling at first, but she’s a very good sort at heart.”

Elizabeth wondered whether she had been ungracious that he was able to read her thoughts so easily. He was smiling, and she felt more than ever attracted to him.

“And now shall we dance?” he asked.

He danced well, in a way that made her unconscious of her own mistakes, and he was protective and brotherly, as if he had known her all her life. He told her to let herself go a little more, and to take a longer step. Elizabeth became intent on her dancing, and, consequently, danced badly.

“Now I’ve made you nervous!” he said ruefully. “I’m awfully sorry. Don’t pay any attention to me. By the way, have I asked you if you dance here often?”

She laughed, and when she did this her little nose went into fascinating wrinkles, and her eyes danced.

“No, but please don’t! How did you know that that was a stock question?”

“A girl told me so once, when I brought it out to her. I admit it’s fairly feeble, but you don’t know how appallingly difficult it is to think of anything to say to some girls.”

This point of view had never before occurred to Elizabeth; ingenuously she told him so.

“No man ought to find any difficulty in talking to you,” he said. “If anyone has, then he was without doubt a fool.”

She had been looking up at him; now her lashes fell, and a little smile of dawning assurance trembled on her lips. Stephen wanted to kiss her; she was so elusive and fragrant.

No one had ever talked to Elizabeth like this before, or had smiled down at her in quite such a way. He was as different from the man who would like to squeeze her hand and flirt as he was different from the man who was openly bored. Under the warmth of an admiring gaze the petals of shyness unfurled a little way and allowed, he thought, a glimpse of the flower’s heart.

“Do you like these shows?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes, I think so. Sometimes it’s fun. Do you?”

“Usually they bore me. I find myself thinking that I’d rather be at home. Not to-night.”

“Where do you live?” she asked.

“In Kent, not far from Oanbrook. In an old Tudor house with a garden you’d love.”

“Should I? Why?”

“Perhaps you wouldn’t. If you’re a town-bird.”

Evidently it was not nice to be a town-bird.

“I don’t think I am. I don’t know much about the country because I’ve always lived in London, that’s all.”