He was relieved. He had been afraid that she would not like to have her honeymoon curtailed. They had arranged to be away three months; they had stayed only two.

“I say, I am glad! I was afraid you’d be disappointed. I’ll write off at once to Nana and tell her we’re coming. By the way, what date shall I fix?”

“I don’t mind, Stephen. Just when you like.”

“Nice, adaptable person! I had a sort of an idea that we might put in a week in town before we go down to Queen’s Halt, and see all our respective relations?”

“Oh, how lovely. Can you really spare the time?”

“Yes, rather. I’ll go and write to Nana and a hotel in town at once.”

“I must write to Aunt Anne,” she said. “If you’re going to write your letters here I’ll go down to the lounge. I know what it is when you start.”

“All right, my lady,” he retorted, seating himself at the table. “You needn’t think I don’t know why you’re going into the lounge.”

She paused, her hand on the door-knob.

“Oh, why?”

“To flirt with the Italian Count,” he said solemnly.

Chapter Thirteen

Elizabeth stood at the window of her room at Queen’s Hotel, and looked with contented eyes down into the dusky street. The sounds, the dull, lovely greyness, even the smells, were London, and therefore, home. She stood for a long time, resting her cheek against the window, watching the traffic and the scurrying pedestrians. She was tired, for she and Stephen had arrived in London that same day in the early afternoon, but she had been resting on her bed, thinking how important she would feel this evening when she entertained her father and her aunt to dinner. It was sweet of Stephen to postpone the invitation to his mother until to-morrow; little things like that, which he did, warmed her heart towards him and made her think that, after all, she was lucky in her choice of husbands. She had protested at the time, saying that of course they must ask Mrs. Ramsay, but Stephen had stood firm.

“Your turn to-day,” he had said. “Mine to-morrow.”

“Stephen, it’s dear of you, but really I’d rather you rang up Mater and—”

“Naughty little fibber! You wouldn’t.”

“But I’d simply hate to offend your mother—or hurt her—”

“She won’t be offended or hurt, darling. She isn’t that sort. I shall go along to see her this afternoon. She’ll understand.”

“Then I shall come too,” Elizabeth said.

“No, you won’t. You’re going to rest. You’re dog-tired already. You shall give me all the messages you like for Mater, and I’ll do my best to deliver them.”