On Thursday Ronald had been to a sale at an old house in Essex. She had been unable, at the last moment, to accompany him. Ronald described the remarkable collection of old prints. And there had been a set of chairs he had particularly admired.

“Oh! I do wish I’d been there,” she exclaimed.

He wanted to say that without her the sale had lost its interest. That indeed he’d only gone because he knew she would like to hear about it. He answered merely:

“I think it would have interested you.”

“I’m sure it would.”

She sipped her tea; asked:

“Shall you be going to the meeting on Saturday?”

“I’m not quite certain.”

“I shan’t go,” she said, “unless you’ll be coming. When shall you know?”

She smiled, as if challenging his evasion. He coloured a little, but bravely answered:

“I was waiting, really, I meant, to know whether you would care to come.”

She smiled at him, quickly, with soft brilliance.

“I often wonder,” she said, “how much of my interest in the Past is genuine. I know I should find it terribly dull to go to these places alone.”

Ronald felt that his face was betraying him. He murmured:

“One likes to compare notes with someone.”

Again she smiled.

“You must promise never to desert me.”

She laughed gaily. He laughed. To imitate her was his only protection. Striving to keep his tone light, even gallant, he answered:

“Yes, Mrs. Vernon, I promise.”

She poured him out another cup of tea. Looking him smilingly straight in the eyes, without embarrassment:

“There’s a favour I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time.”

His heart seemed to swell:

“Yes?”

“I should like it very much if you would call me Lily. May I call you Ronald?”

He bowed his head—could hardly trust himself to speak:

“Yes, please do,” he managed to say.

She leant back a little in her chair, lightly yet beautifully dismissing the subject:

“Thank you. It seemed rather absurd to be so formal, now that we are friends.”

This brought tea to an end. They sat for some time silent. Ronald was aware of the silence of the lamplit flat, high up in the great building, above the intense crawling movement of the far-away traffic. It was as quiet and isolated as a shrine. Lily sat thoughtfully gazing before her, at her hand with its single pale-shining gold ring. She asked:

“Tell me, Ronald. If you had your life to live again, would you alter anything?”

He considered her question. It was the first time he had ever been asked it. He was unaccustomed to talk about himself.

“I think,” he said carefully at length, “I might have been better off in a cavalry regiment. But it was a question of money at the time. It was impossible to live on one’s pay.”