“—Mrs. Ruthven—that’s a very distinguished old name —is a clever woman.”

“She writes poems.”

“There you are, then. Writers very often have small peculiarities. One has to make allowances for them. It would be a dull world if we were all made alike. I strongly advise you to accept Mrs. Ruthven’s invitation, if she repeats it. From all I can make out she seems to be a very nice woman. A most desirable connaissance.” With that he rose, and went away into his study, taking the Times with him. No one was allowed to look at the paper until he had finished with it, and folded it inside out.

Rather to Elizabeth’s surprise, Cynthia Ruthven did repeat her invitation. Some days later a letter came from her to Elizabeth, addressed in a very large and bold handwriting. Lawrence inspected it, and announced that Mrs. Ruthven wrote a good fist, and lived in a very nice part of the world.

“I expect they have to pay a pretty stiff rent for a flat in Hanover Square,” he remarked. “They must be quite well off.”

Even Aunt Anne thought it an excellent friendship for Elizabeth to make. So Elizabeth wrote to accept the invitation, and wondered secretly whether perhaps Stephen might not be there too. If so it would be really nice, but if not she did not think it would be nice at all.

The Ruthvens’ flat was furnished very well, but in a modern style that Elizabeth found rather startling. She was conducted across a hall with a Bakst scheme of decoration to a room which she supposed to be the drawing-room.

Cynthia was lost in the depths of an immense black chair, with her legs crossed and one foot swinging gently in its high-heeled shoe. That, and the blue smoke of her cigarette was all there was to be seen of her. She rose and threw aside the book she had been reading. Elizabeth thought she had never seen anything so marvellous as Cynthia’s gown, which was of primrose chiffon, presumably to match the room.

“So glad you’ve come,” Cynthia said, shaking hands. “Where would you like to sit?”

Elizabeth chose the sofa, and at once wished that she had not, for it was so deep and soft that she could not sit upright as she would have liked to have done. She had the uncomfortable feeling that her knees were higher than her chin, and wondered why it was that she could never look graceful or at ease in a lounging position. Other girls did, and they didn’t seem to feel at a disadvantage either.

Cynthia curled up again in her original chair, sitting sideways to face Elizabeth.

“Awfully decent of you to come and see me.” she was saying. “It’s quite impossible to get to know anyone at a dance.”

“I know,” said Elizabeth. “And there’s never time, somehow, to talk to other girls.”