Even to herself Joanna did not admit how nervous she became in the Lovatts’ house. But from the moment the front door closed between her and the street, there was always a tightening of all her nerves. As she passed through the square entrance hall, so unlike any other known to her, with its black-tiled floor, bright blue carpet, and white walls hung with black-framed etchings, her very muscles would stiffen a little in the involuntary effort which these decorations seemed to demand. In the same way, the rooms, though they were neither so large as the rooms in Collessie Street, nor nearly so rich as Aunt Georgina’s, imposed a peculiar restraint. The way in which a few flowers stood up from a shallow glass dish; the black sofa bolsters tasselled with gold; the signed scribbles in pencil (generous as to margin) by Sargent or Burne-Jones, which leaned unfixed on a moulding against the drawing-room wall; and here and there, resting on the same ledge for the convenience of handling a framed autograph letter – these were evidences of a world in which Joanna did not yet move easily, a world where the small talk, like the material furnishings, had its own shibboleths of seeming freedom and simplicity.

But on this evening Joanna had great hopes of escaping the usual ordeal. The swift transition from St. Saviour’s to the house in Panmure Crescent, the emotional tension of the prayer meeting, the bizarre concealment of her balldress, acted upon her like some stimulating and skilfully mixed potion.

Although not late, she was the last guest to arrive, and was glad to have the bedroom to herself so that she could take off her outer clothes unnoticed. The extra garments and the race through the streets had made her hot, and it was a delicious refreshment to emerge in her thin evening gown. As she shook out the voluminous skirt before Mildred’s cheval glass she seemed to herself as light as gossamer. She palpitated in response to the brightness in her own eyes, to the wild colour in her cheeks, to the inebriating savour of life on her palate. And on the way down the blue-carpeted stair, she felt as if the vessel of her being were full to the lip with incandescent flame. From the moment she entered the drawing-room she knew she need fear nothing, for this evening at least.