He began to picture himself in the role of proud father. It would be rather jolly to take Elizabeth out to parties. He cast a surreptitious glance at the mirror and imagined his friends’ surprise at finding that he possessed a grown-up daughter. Really, Elizabeth was quite lovely; moreover she was quiet and docile, unlike these terrible modern girls who wore short skirts, swore, and bobbed their hair. He thought how delightful it would be to display her, virginally shy, at the Opera, when people would surely wonder who that distinguished-looking couple were. Probably he would be taken for an elder brother, or perhaps a youthful uncle. Except for an almost imperceptible silveriness at the temples he had worn well, remarkably well, and kept his neat figure. So many men, notably poor old Hengist, seemed to have become baggy and stout.

Miss Arden did not fit in with the picture at all, which was annoying. Poor Anne, she had become woefully thin, and she could never wear her clothes as though they belonged to her. He reflected, conscious all the time of disloyalty, that Anne had never had the dress-sense. She followed the fashions of five years ago, or more, and somehow she seemed unable to wear the right clothes for the right occasion.

Lawrence admitted that he knew very little about women’s clothes, but he rather thought that he had an eye for colour. Anne was too fond of mixing her colours: she would wear black shoes with a brown frock, and perhaps a grey golf-jersey, and always powdered her nose inadequately.

Secretly he decided that Anne would have to be left out of a good many parties. Probably she would prefer to stay at home. When one came to think of it it would be positively unfair to expect Anne to chaperon Elizabeth everywhere. He would do that; it was his duty, and certainly he would not shelve it on to Anne’s shoulders. Besides, it was no longer the custom to chaperon debutantes, and although he by no means approved of this laxity, he thought it would make Elizabeth less conspicuous if he performed the rite. No one would think that he was Elizabeth’s father.

He became affectionate towards Elizabeth, and thought that it was not every man who possessed so beautiful a daughter. He said:—

“What has my little girl been doing with herself all day?” and stroked her hair.

Elizabeth looked at him, rather puzzled, and answered that she had been doing the usual things. She wished that he would not stroke her hair; she hated to be touched.

“We shall have to think about bringing you out, eh?” he said, smiling. “What about putting this hair up?”

Elizabeth glanced at her aunt.

“Can I, Auntie?”

“Oh, it’s very early days yet, darling! Lawrence, I thought perhaps when she’s nineteen—”

“Oh, nonsense!” he said. “You’re quite old enough now, aren’t you, Elizabeth?”