Wendell was tall, and dark, with very soft brown eyes, and a smiling face. Stephen, when he was dancing with Elizabeth, saw him, and exclaimed.

“Hullo! There’s old Wendell!”

“Who is he?” Elizabeth asked.

“Chap who was in my battalion out in Flanders. Very cheery.” He piloted Elizabeth across the room, and managed to attract Wendell’s attention. After the dance Wendell came to the Ramsay table, and Stephen introduced him to Elizabeth. He looked at her in admiration; Stephen said that he must come to dinner with them one night.

“I’d love to!” Wendell said eagerly. “Topping to meet you again!”

Elizabeth was at her best in moments like these. She smiled, and endorsed Stephen’s invitation, and said that she would write and suggest a day. Wendell thanked her and said that it was awfully good of her. Then he had to hurry back to his own party, and they did not speak to him again that evening.

He came to dine with them later in the week, alone, and Elizabeth liked him. He was gay, and he made jokes that she could follow. She wondered rather what Stephen found attractive in him, for he was certainly not particularly clever, and quite ignorant of matters literary. He and Stephen “talked War,” and Elizabeth listened with interest. That type of reminiscence was not galling, but amusing. Then, too, Wendell evidently thought her charming. She read the admiration in his eyes, and expanded to it. She was at her best, and she knew that she was being a good hostess for once.

“I say, Mrs. Ramsay, isn’t it a bit strenuous being married to a gilded novelist? D’you have to make learned remarks about his books? Jolly fatiguing, what?”

“Oh, no!” she answered, laughing. “I don’t know enough about novel-writing to criticise. All I do is to drag him away from his work to come and talk to me.”

“Shouldn’t think he needs much dragging,” Wendell said.

Elizabeth dimpled.

“Oh yes, he does! While he’s writing he hasn’t any use for me. I think he’s in love with his heroine—I mean, the girl in his book.”

“What an unblushing lie!” Stephen remarked.

“P’raps his heroine is you,” suggested Wendell.

“Me? Good gracious, no! She’s a dreadful creature!”

Then they all laughed, Elizabeth too, when she realized what she had said.

They went into the billiard-room after dinner, and as no one else was there, Elizabeth let Stephen and Wendell teach her how to play. She enjoyed that, even when she miscued three times in succession. Stephen said, Rotten!

Wendell told him to shut up. He assured Elizabeth that she was learning fast, and would make a fine player. They played three-handed billiards, and Wendell had Elizabeth as his partner.

“As a handicap?” she asked, smiling.

“Not much! Come on, Mrs. Ramsay, we’ll have to pull our socks up with a vengeance. Stephen’s played the game before.”