‘Now, do not tell me you are wearied, Miss Gaydon of the worn dancing slippers, because I know for a fact that you have been here less than an hour. It is I who ought to have that seat. Do you know I have danced with four young ladies, four, and if you begged me to waltz with you now I would simply have to decline through decrepitude.’ He sat with an ostentatious collapse next to her on the sofa.

‘Ah, well, if you are so “decrepit”, Charles, perhaps I ought to offer to go and find you something restorative.’

‘Such as a glass of burgundy?’

‘I was thinking more a mustard plaster.’ She giggled.

‘I thought that was for colds and agues, or is that a mustard footbath?’

‘Do not look at me, Charles. It is not I who is aged and worn out.’

‘Then why hide yourself away when there are dances to be danced, and partners unlimited?’ He wanted to know if she would lie outright, tell him a half truth, or the whole.

‘Well, someone had something very particular to say to me, and …’ Henrietta saw Charles Henfield’s cheeks pale.

‘Did you accept?’ he managed, in a dry whisper.

‘Accept? You … oh, you think … It was not that sort of “particular”.’ She looked a little disappointed, and again, he made the incorrect assumption, which was that she wished it had been, rather than the correct one, which was that she was unhappy that he felt she would accept an offer from … someone.

‘You are the sort of girl for whom many men would wish to offer, Henry.’ He said it softly, and she wondered, sadly, if there was a silent ‘but not me’ at the end.

‘Well, I have, apparently, had one, but thankfully my aunt was happy for me to decline. It was rather sobering, and not exciting in the least.’ Henrietta pulled a face.

‘I do not think you want me to say “poor Henry”, so I shall not. It is strange,’ he said, in a philosophical tone, ‘but of course the male perspective is so different, since we have the advantage of the positive, doing the asking, and yet also the greater risk, that of being refused. From the moment the offer is made, the choice is the lady’s.’

‘I am not sure that “choice” is quite the right word.’

‘But you can say no.’ He frowned.

‘Oh Charles, be realistic. That is where the balance falls to the man. How often is a man forced to offer for a woman?’

‘Well, I suppose if one were severely in debt or … There is no “or”, is there.’

‘No, there is not. We have not just the “it is a good match” but the fear that if we do not accept then there will be no other offers, and one ends as my Aunt Elstead fears, pitied, despised and alone.’