They were still after this lifelong strangeness to one another at a stage when the novelty of being together made each seeking out of one another unique. A meeting was in the nature of a rendezvous, and the mise en scène queerly important. The isolation of rendezvous made indifferent such publicity as that of a bench, a waiting-room, or this rigid sofa pasted square to the wall of a drawing-room. As they sat here, Ronald exulted.

‘And now?’ his mother said, after some moments in which the music, having come to an end, the shoal swept past from the balcony with a sympathetic aversion of glances. A lust for spectacle which the little blind girl had aroused was gratified by them passingly, and Ronald knew that many people had considered them ‘touching’. The room empty once more, it was as though Mrs Kerr had had to expostulate with herself for being too happy. ‘And now?’ she resumed with an air of obligation.

‘Why “now”?’ said Ronald. ‘Can’t we stay here? I mean, unless you want to sleep. What is this room, anyway?’ He looked round at the armchairs all facing one way with awful intelligence.

‘I think quite a number of women sit here.’

‘Obviously. But I’m not afraid of an atmosphere.’

‘Dear Ronald, you seem to be thickening. I was always alarmed and impressed by the idea that you were afraid of atmospheres: that they were dangerous.’

He had been alarmed and impressed by the idea that she had not an inkling of his subtleties; or rather, would not exert herself to perceive them. But since his arrival at this hotel, he had been amazed by the fineness of her perceptions, not only from moment to moment but by a sudden vista of them along the past, perceptions so delicate, appreciations so faultless that it could only have been some lack of an equal fineness that had made him suffer an infinite deprivation. Now when she said that he was thickening he was able to smile at her.

‘I suppose I must have amused my mother?’

‘Ronald, you were so subtle. I was inadequate.’

‘I was inadequate. Shut up!’ He shook her arm gently.

‘I can’t help laughing. Do you know, I – I respect you? Why should I have to confess this instead of announcing it? I do respect you,’ she repeated, saying the word diffidently and looking back on what she had said with apparent misgiving.

‘As a matter of fact,’ said Ronald gravely, ‘I don’t think we mind being respected. I think, Mother, if you don’t mind my saying so, that it is a mistake ever to confuse us with your fin-de-siècle friends. Of course a remark like that would have a thousand satirical reverberations in – say – a Wilde play. But really, one is able to take it quite simply.’