s not only being diverted from her purpose, but led
by a side tract to an unexplored profundity. On the further side of it
she discerned, dimly, the undesirable. It was a murky region, haunted
by still murkier presences, by Lady Cayley and her kind. She persisted
with a magnificent irrelevance.

"You must know her. You would like her."

He didn't in the least want to know Mrs. Eliott, he didn't think that he
would like her. But he was soothed, flattered, insanely pleased with
Anne's assumption that he would. It was as if in her thoughts she were
drawing him towards her. He felt that she was softening, yielding. His
approaches were a delicious wooing of an unfamiliar, unwedded Anne.

"I would like her, because you like her, is that it?"

"It wouldn't follow."

"Oh, how you spoil it!"

"Spoil what?"

"My inference. It pleased me. But, as you say, the logic wasn't sound."

Silence being the only dignified course under mystification, Anne was
silent. Some men had that irritating way with women; Walter's smile
suggested that he might have it. She was not going to minister to his
male delight. Unfortunately her silence seemed to please him too.

"Never mind, dear, I do like her; because she likes you."

"You will like her for herself when you know her."

"Will she like me for myself when she knows me? It's extremely doubtful.
You see, hitherto she has made no ardent sign."

"My dear, she says you've never been near her. You've never come to one
of her Thursdays."

"Oh, her Thursdays--no, I haven't."

"Well, how can you expect--but you'll go sometimes, now, to please me?"

"Won't Wednesdays do?"

"Wednesdays?"

"Yes. It wasn't half bad to-night. I'll go to every blessed Wednesday, as
long as they last, if you'll only let me off Thursdays."

"Please don't talk about being 'let off.' I thought you might like to
know my friends, that's all."

"So I would. I'd like it awfully. By the way, that reminds me. I met
Hannay at the club to-night, and he asked if his wife might call on you.
Would you mind very much?"

"Why should I mind, if she's a friend of yours and Edith's?"

"Oh well, you see, she isn't exactly--"

"Isn't exactly what?"

"A friend of Edith's."

CHAPTER VI

There is a polite and ancient rivalry between Prior Street and Thurston
Square, a rivalry that dates from the middle of the eighteenth century,
when Prior Street and Thurston Square were young. Each claims to be the
aristocra