‘Oh, not more than others.’ Veronica slipped off the bed and began to walk round the room thoughtfully. Hands on hips she paused a moment to look at herself in the wardrobe from every angle. ‘One might be led to expect,’ she said with obvious relevance, ‘something better than all that, you know.’ It did seem that for all she had been designed for she was tragically more than adequate. She remained staring at Sydney with a fated air while Sydney said: ‘He seems attached to you.’

‘Of course,’ said Veronica, matter-of-factly but without complacency.

‘Do you want to get rid of him?’

‘Yes – no. What would be the good? Everybody’s the same and I must have somebody.’

‘Oh, well,’ said Sydney, withdrawing. A moment’s rather fine light had played on Veronica, but now Sydney felt, in revulsion, a kind of contempt. Women, she thought, are all tentacles: this last remark suggested a wide but horribly purposeful groping about.

‘And if you come to think of it,’ said Veronica, ‘people who are fond of one may be damned dull, and absolutely monotonous, but they are rather touching. I hate pitying people, but I can’t help it. Fancy feeling like that! I do think men are pathetic, don’t you? If only they were more interesting.’

‘I should have said they were interesting.’

‘You wouldn’t if you’d had as many as I have,’ said Veronica gloomily. ‘I do envy you being so fearfully clever, Sydney: it’s kept you young for your age. I dare say I thought men were interesting when I was about seventeen. Now I can see they’re all exactly the same.’

‘If that’s the effect you produce on them,’ said Sydney, ‘I should let them be. And it would be fairer. After all, as one was told when one wouldn’t finish up one’s dinner, there are many poor girls——’

‘Oh, I dare say. But what am I to do? I don’t want to be anything. I’m not modern. I’d be perfectly happy the way I am if only other people weren’t exactly like they are. Sydney, you give me the creeps sitting there like an idol. Do say something. Tell me what you think will become of me.’

‘Why do you ask me? I’m the last person in the world to be able to understand you. It would be better, even, to ask Victor.’

‘I never talk to him. But you’re so lucid.’

‘Who said that?’ asked Sydney at once, pouncing on an adjective which did not seem to have its place in Veronica’s vocabulary.

‘Mr Milton,’ said Veronica unabashed. ‘We think “lucid” is a good word: we’ve taken it up. You should hear Eileen! He’s got a tremendous vocabulary: he said you were “clear-cut”.’

‘Oh! How amusing. Does he talk about me?’

‘Of course he does: he’s fearfully keen on you.’

‘Oh! How amusing …’