Elizabeth’s friendship with Stephen grew quickly after that; she feared he must be neglecting his work, so often did his yellow car purr to her door and stop there. He had won the approval of Lawrence; more important still, of Aunt Anne, who described him as a remarkably nice young man. Lawrence said that what he liked about Stephen was his lack of conceit and his modesty when forced to speak of his work. From the day when Stephen brought violets to Miss Arden, Elizabeth heard nothing but praise of him in her home. Miss Arden, fluttered by the gift of flowers—a gift that seemed to recall the days of her youth—saw in it only a delicate attention to herself, and not a wily move in the game Stephen was playing whereby he sought to enlist her sympathies and possible influence on his side.

It was some time before Mr. Hengist met Stephen, but Lawrence saw to it that he had little chance of remaining in ignorance of Stephen’s intimacy with the family of Arden. Lawrence formed a habit of dragging Stephen into any conversation, and he introduced his name in a simple and imposing manner. He said, Elizabeth’s great friend, Stephen Ramsay, and waited artistically for his audience to interject, Not the novelist? After that it was easy. Mr. Hengist was the only man with whom this delicate opening produced no satisfactory result. Lawrence started neatly with:—

“Well, I’m inclined to agree with what Elizabeth’s friend, Stephen Ramsay, says on that subject.” He left a pause; Mr. Hengist removed his pipe from his mouth, and inquired:—

“What does he say?”

Lawrence thought this just like Hengist. He had to think very hard to remember what Stephen had said, and even then Mr. Hengist did not ask whether Lawrence was speaking of Stephen Ramsay, the man who wrote “Celandine.”

Miss Arden, in a more direct form of attack, managed to arouse Mr. Hengist’s interest. Brightly she said:—

“I suppose you’ve heard that Elizabeth has made a new friend, Mr. Hengist?”

“No,” he replied. “Who is it?”

“Someone rather famous,” Miss Arden said. “Stephen Ramsay. Of course you’ve heard of him?”

“Yes, I’ve read one of his books. What is he like, Elizabeth?”

“I like him very much,” she answered.

Mr. Hengist looked at her with slight irony.

“I should like to hear you exchanging views with Ramsay,” he remarked.

“I admire his line of thought,” Lawrence said profoundly.

Mr. Hengist cocked a humorous eyebrow in his direction.

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“Certainly I do. What’s your opinion?”

“Well—” Mr. Hengist started in a leisurely way to refill his pipe— “He’s clever, occasionally original, but to my mind he’s too inclined to sacrifice sincerity on the altar of wit.”

“I don’t agree,” Lawrence said flatly.

“Furthermore,” went on Mr. Hengist, “for one who writes on the psychology of woman he knows very little about woman.”