“Don’t be huffy, old man!” Anthony begged. “You know what she is. She doesn’t mean anything.”

“I do indeed know what she is,” said Stephen grimly. “Of all the shrewish—”

Anthony put his pipe down on the mantelpiece.

“That’ll do, Stephen,” he drawled.

“I daresay it suits you to shut your eyes to her abominable behaviour!” Stephen sneered.

“If you’ve got anything more to say, you can come outside and say it,” Anthony warned him softly. “I’m willing to admit that Cynthia shouldn’t have said what she did, but if you think I’m going to let you—”

“I’ll say what I like about Cynthia! You seem to forget that I’ve got the rotten bad luck to be her brother!”

“And you—” Anthony planted himself firmly before Stephen, “seem to forget that I have the extraordinary good luck to be her husband.”

“Very extraordinary!” Stephen snapped.

“I think it’s time I began to cry,” Mrs. Ramsay said plaintively. “Don’t quarrel, you dear silly creatures. Anthony, don’t pay any attention to Stephen. Goodness me, you ought to know the Ramsay temper by now!”

Anthony picked up his pipe.

“Pity it isn’t kept under control,” he remarked, very levelly.

“Damn it all,” Stephen said fiercely, “anyone would think I started the row!”

“Never mind who started it!” begged Mrs. Ramsay. “And be nice to Cynthia, Stephen, just to please me. You can be so awfully nice if you try.”

“Be nice to her! What am I expected to do? Apologise for marrying a girl whom she doesn’t happen to like?”

Mrs. Ramsay stroked his coat sleeve.

“It’s only because she’s so proud of you, dearest, and because she’d set her heart on your marrying Nina. She’s sorry by now that she was so tactless.”

Stephen was slightly mollified, but still he scowled.

“Jolly way to- have the news of one’s engagement received,” he said.

“Horrid, darling, but I’m glad that you’re going to be happy, and so is Anthony.”

The door opened; Cynthia came back into the room with her hat and gloves on. Stephen went forward.

“Going to congratulate me, Cynny?”

“I don’t suppose it matters to you what I say,” she answered bitterly.

“Cynthia, do behave properly!” sighed her mother. “I won’t have you all quarrelling round me. And Stephen’s going to kill Anthony—or Anthony’s going to kill Stephen, I’m not sure which—and it’ll be most unpleasant. All over you too, and it isn’t anything to do with you really.”

“You needn’t bother to fight over me,” Cynthia said. She hesitated, and then held out her hand. “Sorry, Stephen. I’ll write to Elizabeth to-night.”

“Thanks, old girl.”

“Very handsome,” commented Anthony. “I’d better take her home before she spoils it. Cheerio, mater; good luck, Stephen. Come on, my lady.”

Cynthia released Stephen’s hand.