“Ah, I daresay,” Lady Ribblemere said vaguely. “It seems incredible that Cynthia should have a child of her own. Time flies indeed. Which reminds me that I must be going.” She heaved herself out of the sofa. “No, do not trouble to escort me to the gate, Stephen. I shall feel that I am interrupting you in your work. You and your wife must come up to dine with us one evening. Perhaps the Vicar and Mrs. Edmondston would come too. I must arrange it. Goodbye, Mrs. Ramsay, or may I call you Elizabeth? We have had a delightful little talk. I wish you would not come with me, Stephen; I am sure you are very busy.” Her voice died away in the passage; Elizabeth drew a deep breath, and started to giggle. When Stephen came back he was scowling; Elizabeth became grave at once.

“Damn the woman!” snapped Stephen. “What on earth did you bring her in here for?”

Elizabeth shrank slightly from the roughness of his voice.

“I didn’t. She—just came. I couldn’t help it.”

“Good lord, I should think you might have raked up some excuse! Infernal old wind-bag. Of course that’s the end of my work for to-day.”

“Really, Stephen, I don’t see why you need be so angry about it!” Elizabeth said, hurt. “After all, she didn’t stay long, and she was very kind and nice.”

Stephen groaned.

“Good God, can’t you understand that a thing like that’s enough to put me off for a week?”

“No, I can’t,” Elizabeth said, angry in her turn. “And anyway I’m not going to be talked to like that! Anyone would think it was my fault!”

“Well, I do think you might have said that I was out, or ill,” he grumbled.

“If people take the trouble to call on us, the least you can do is to receive them pleasantly,” said Elizabeth, quoting largely from Miss Arden.

“I have yet to learn that it is the man’s duty to receive calls,” Stephen replied sarcastically. “And as for Lady Ribblemere—I can’t bear the woman. She’s positively rude. Fancy saying that she considered novel-reading waste of time! Beastly bad form.”

“Well, I like her. I think it was very kind of her to come and call.”

“Elizabeth, don’t talk such damned rot! I’m willing to admit that she’s kind, but you can’t possibly like her! There’s nothing to like.”

“I don’t agree at all. I think you’re very fault-finding and quarrelsome.”

He softened.

“Sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to quarrel with you. Pretend that you like Lady Ribblemere, if you want to. It doesn’t really matter.”

She reddened.

“I am not pretending. Why do you always say that?”

He put his arm round her waist.

“Because you do, ’Lisbeth. You know you do.”