h, Vincy, I think you're very sweet to me, but how late dare I get
back to Ravenscourt Park?'

'Why not miss the eight-five train?--then you'll catch the quarter to
ten and get back at about eleven.'

'Which would you _rather_ I did?'

'Well, need you ask?'

'I don't know, Vincy. I have a curious feeling sometimes. I believe
you're rather glad when I've gone--relieved!'

'Well, my dear,' he answered, 'look how you worry all the time! If
you'd only have what I call a quiet set-down and a chat, without being
always on the fidget, always looking either at the glass or at the
clock, one might _not_ have that feeling.'

Her colour rose, and tears came to her eyes. 'Oh, then you _are_ glad
when I'm gone!' She pouted. 'You don't care for me a bit, Vincy,' she
said, in a plaintive voice.

He sat down next to her on the little striped sofa, and took her hand.

'Oh, give over, Mavis, do give over! I wish you wouldn't carry on like
that; you do carry on, Mavis dear, don't you? Some days you go on
something cruel, you do really. Reely, I mean. Now, cheer up and be
jolly. Give a kiss to the pretty gentleman, and look at all these
pretty good-conduct stripes on the sofa! There! That's better.'

'Don't speak as if I were a baby!'

'Do you mind telling me what we're quarrelling about, my dear? I only
ask for information.'

'Oh, we're _not_. You're awfully sweet. You know I love you, Vincy.'

'I thought, perhaps, it was really all right.'

'Sometimes I feel miserable and jealous.'

He smiled. 'Ah! What are you jealous of, Mavis?'

'Oh, everything--everyone--all the people you meet.'

'Is that all? Well, you're the only person I ever meet--by appointment,
at any rate.'

'Well--the Ottleys!'

His eye instinctively travelled to a photograph of Edith, all tulle and
roses; a rather fascinating portrait.

'What about _her_?' asked Mavis. 'What price Mrs Ottley?'

'Really, Mavis!--What price? No price. Nothing about her; she's just a
great friend of mine. I think I told you that before. ... What a
frightfully bright light there is in the room,' Vincy said. He got up
and drew the blind down. He came back to her.

'Your hair's coming down,' he remarked.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'But at the back it generally is.'

'Don't move--let me do it.'

Pretending to arrange it, he took all the hairpins out, and the cloud
of dark red hair fell down on her shoulders.

'I like your hair, Mavis.'

* * *