‘Neither do I. I suppose – you can come along if you want to,’ said Sydney, denying a sense that this was mischievous on her part and a shade dishonourable. At all events, to annoy somebody in her turn surely was owed to her? ‘He pretends,’ she thought, ‘he professes to be fond of children. And it’s not as though we had anything to say to one another. We talk and talk and cancel out each other’s ideas until it all comes down to what it was before: that we do not agree. At the end of it all it is as though nothing had been said. I do not even understand myself any better at the end of it, and if that fails what is the use of conversation? Nothing will ever crystallize out of our being together; not so much as a notion.’

She deliberated, however, for some moments over her hats and scarves and returned more than once to the looking-glass to review herself critically.

Milton was waiting below in the lounge and his face did fall perceptibly as Sydney at last appearing at the turn of the stair indicated Cordelia, less in tow than towing, capering round possessively.

‘Oh!’ said he, and, looking down at their two pairs of descending feet, could think of nothing better to say.

Sydney wondered if her face had looked like that to Mrs Kerr some moments ago: the comparison was distasteful. ‘This is Cordelia Barry,’ she said with bright hardiness, ‘the eldest of them. She would like to come with us; you don’t mind, do you?’ To her surprise, Milton turned away without a word to take his walking-stick from the rack behind him.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ echoed Cordelia shrilly.

‘I’m very pleased, of course, if Miss Warren has invited you,’ said Milton, holding open the door for them. But as Cordelia passed out behind Sydney with the self-assurance of a pet monkey he looked daggers at her profile.

‘I’ve just seen the Kerrs going off,’ he said to Sydney as he came abreast with her. ‘Ronald looks brighter this morning: indeed, decidedly pleased with himself.’ His pale grey eyes encountered Sydney’s thoughtfully.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it’s nice to see them together.’ She could tell by his tone that he was angry with her and was vaguely brandishing a weapon which he understood to be deadly but did not quite know how to use. He was nice-looking and at the moment unapproachable; she felt too spiritless to spar with him, and said, to propitiate, ‘It is a lovely day for a walk. I haven’t been for a walk for ages,’ and looked at him gently. He noticed that her eyes had dark circles round them which were unbecoming and pitiful.