He was a delightful partner; he coached her zealously, in spite of a running fire of commentary from Stephen.

“Now then, Mrs. Ramsay, we’ve got him on toast. If you can cannon off the white on to that cushion, with just a leetle left-hand side on, you’ll—”

“If you tell her to put side on she won’t hit it at all,” Stephen interrupted.

“Don’t be so rude!” Elizabeth protested. “Go on, Mr. Wendell, I’m listening.”

“Well, you want to hit the white very nearly half-ball, then you’ll cannon off this cushion on to the red.”

“Not she,” said Stephen. “Look here, darling! aim to hit the red half-ball—don’t bother about any side—and the chances are you’ll go into the middle pocket.”

“Shut up, Stephen; you’re muddling me. Will you mind if I miss this, Mr. Wendell?”

“No, rather not. Yes, that’s right. Let your cue follow.”

Of course she did miss the shot, and Stephen said, I told you so. Wendell was more complimentary.

“Jolly good attempt. Just hadn’t got legs enough. Hullo, look at old Stephen! Billiards by One Who Knows. Well, let’s see what we can do with it.”

They played until two men who were staying in the hotel came in. Then Elizabeth put up her cue, and sat down to watch.

Decidedly the evening was a success.

After that they saw Wendell often. He asked them to dine with him, and go to a theatre. The piece was a revue, but Elizabeth enjoyed every moment of it. They went to supper afterwards at the Savoy, a thing Elizabeth had never done before.

“You like Wendell?” Stephen asked her, later.

“Oh, yes! Don’t you?” she replied.

“Quite a good chap. We must get him to come down to the Halt some time or other. Did I hear you say you were going with him to Twickenham?”

“He did ask me,” she admitted. “I’ve never seen a Rugger-match. Do you mind if I go, Stephen?”

“Mind? Good lord, no, darling! Why should I?”

She went with Wendell, several times. He made one of the party Stephen got up to go to Sandown Park; he formed a habit of ringing up many times in the week to see whether the Ramsays couldn’t come along with him to a show that night, or a motor-drive that afternoon. Easily, almost unconsciously, he and Elizabeth drifted into close friendship. Christian names came naturally; it was as though she had known Wendell all her life. In conversation with him no mental effort was required; sometimes, even, she felt herself to be intellectually his superior. That was rather a refreshing change. It was she who suggested that he should visit them at the Halt. He jumped at the invitation.

“I say, how topping! Yes, I’d love to. Please don’t forget, Betty, or I shall be compelled to remind you!”