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  He laughed at her, and held her for yet another moment; then he set her gently on her feet, and put a little leather case into her hand.

  “Darling, there’s your first fetter,” he said gaily. “Tell me if you like it! I’ve had at least twelve jewellers’ shops upside down this morning, looking for a ring that would express you.”

  Elizabeth opened the case, and of habit, said, How lovely! She had dreamed of sapphires, deep twinkling gems, and Stephen brought her a cluster of pearls set in a diamond circle.

  “It looked so exactly like you, Elizabeth. But if you don’t care about it I’ll change it. I ought to have asked you your favourite stone, oughtn’t I?”

  “Of course I like it. Thank you very much, Stephen. It’s perfectly beautiful. Only it means tears. Had you forgotten?”

  He drew his signet-ring from her finger and slipped his gift on in its place.

  “’Fraid it’s too big. Sweetheart, you don’t really care about that silly old superstition, do you?”

  She shook her head, smiling.

  “No. I said it to tease you. It is too big, Stephen— just a bit.”

  “Sickening. What can I measure your dear little finger with?” She hunted in Miss Arden’s work-bag for tape and carefully he tied a knot about her finger.

  “Stephen, Mrs. Ram—your mother—has written an awfully nice letter to me. I’m going to tea with her this afternoon.”

  “Oh, splendid!” he said. “I told her last night. You ’ll love her, Elizabeth.”

  “I’m feeling—dreadfully shy—about going to see her,” she confessed. She laid a hand upon his coat-sleeve, and glanced up at him in the bewitching, childlike way she had.

  His arm went round her.

  “My darling, you couldn’t be shy of the mater! She’s far more likely to be shy of you, little babe.”

  “Is she?” Elizabeth looked surprised. “But why? Won’t she like me as a—as a daughter-in-law?”

  “Elizabeth! How dare you? She’ll love you—just as I do. No, not as I do at all. Darling, I adore your hair, it smells of all the flowers in the world, but I’d like to see your face.”

  She turned it upwards in blushing obedience. She saw his eyes grow dark and grave.

  “Elizabeth—” He stopped and quite gently kissed her.

  “There’s so much I want to say, and I can’t say it without sounding like a third-rate novel. I’d like to say all the things that I thought I never should say. I want to tell you that your eyes are like pansies, all velvety and soft, but I know quite well from the solemn look on your face that you’ll think I’m just phrase-making.”

  She had not thought it; his whimsicality and the quick predominance of his humour puzzled her; she had not imagined that her lover would be like this, and laugh even when he said that she was beautiful. The tiny catch in his voice told her that although he joked, his feeling for her was serious, more serious perhaps than he dared to show? her. And yet his joking was a jarring note to her. Love-making was something that was holy and solemn, like going to church; he should not have laughed. After yesterday everything seemed a little flat. She had expected to feel a heroine’s exultation when Stephen slipped the ring on to her finger, but the ring was too big, and she had wanted sapphires.

  He left her when Miss Arden came in, and she spent the morning wondering what Mrs. Ramsay would say to her, and what she would say to Mrs. Ramsay.

  But Mrs. Ramsay made everything easy. When Elizabeth entered her drawing-room she came forward quickly and held out both her hands.

  “Elizabeth, can I congratulate you, or does that sound as though I were too proud of my son?”

  Then Elizabeth laughed, and kissed her, and some of the tension was gone.

  “It was so nice of you to ask me to come to-day,” Elizabeth stammered.

  “My dear, of course I wanted to see you at once. We hardly know one another, do we? Still, I always believe what Stephen tells me because he’s usually right, and he says that I shall love you. Oh, do sit down!”

  “Stephen says that I shall love you too,” Elizabeth smiled.

  “Please do! I’m a horribly spoiled person, and I can’t bear it if people don’t like me. By the way, I must introduce you to Thomas. Such a darling. Thomas, where are you?”

  Thomas, who was a bull terrier, came stiffly from behind the sofa, and snuffed enquiringly at Elizabeth’s ankles. She patted him and fondled his ears, and he put his forepaws on her knee.

  “What a blessing!” sighed Mrs. Ramsay. “It’s most awkward when Thomas won’t be polite to my friends. I’m glad he likes you. Have you got a dog?”

  “No, but I’ve always wanted one,” Elizabeth answered. “My aunt doesn’t care for them. What a beautiful head Thomas has.”

  “Hasn’t he? You know, he rules my life, which is sometimes most tiresome. That’s the worst of a dog—yes, and the best too—if you’re really and truly fond of them you can’t stir without them, and then where are you?” She began to pour out the tea. “I was at Seaford. At least, that’s where Thomas landed me. Such an awful place; you can’t wear a hat there without being conspicuous.”

  “But why did Thomas land you at Seaford?” Elizabeth asked, considerably mystified.

  “Oh, didn’t I explain?” Mrs. Ramsay handed her a plate and made a vague gesture of invitation towards the cake-stand. “The only hotel that would receive Thomas was one at Seaford. No, I believe there was one at Eastbourne, but I couldn’t possibly go there, could I? You can’t go without a hat there, without being conspicuous. No medium. So I went to Seaford, and Thomas loved it. Do have some toast.”

  Elizabeth took the toast, and as there didn’t seem to be anything to say she was silent. Mrs. Ramsay gave Thomas a lump of sugar, remarking that it was exceedingly bad for him, and leaned back in her chair, smiling at Elizabeth.

  “Poor child, you little know what a mad family you’re marrying into. Someone ought to have warned you. Did Stephen?”

  “No,” said Elizabeth, laughing a little.

  “What a shame. Still, you’ve met most of us, haven’t you? Even Anthony, and he isn’t mad at all. Quite the reverse, poor old thing. Then there’s the Outer Circle: aunts, you know, and one uncle. Quite a darling, and never will go to bed before three in the morning. I believe there are some cousins, only I’ve forgotten for the moment which they are. Relations are rather trying, aren’t they? especially cousins. So elusive. You meet them once in a blue moon and feel you ought to love them whereas really you hope to goodness you’ll never see them again. Are you cursed with them?”

  “No, I’ve no relations except my father and my aunt. My mother was an only child, you see. Oh—as a matter of fact I think I have got some cousins somewhere. Second ones, or once-removed. I don’t quite know, but I’ve never seen them.”

  “There you are!” Mrs. Ramsay nodded. “One day they’ll turn up, and you’ll think, What awful people! Backwoodsmen. They always are.”

  “Back what?” Elizabeth asked, much amused.

  “Backwoodsmen. Isn’t that right? Country-bumpkins, who come on a visit to town and buy clothes at Selfridge’s.”

  “Oh, I see! Yes, I believe mine are like that. They live in the Isle of Wight.”

  “I didn’t know anybody did,” Mrs. Ramsay said innocently. “I always thought the Isle of Wight was just a place everyone went to in the summer. That’s why I never did. Try some of that cake. I bought it myself because it looked like the Albert Memorial.”

  “Oh, that eyesore!” Elizabeth cried.

  “My dear, it’s wonderful. I go and stare at it periodically and gasp.”

  “But don’t you think it’s ugly?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Marvellously. It’s just as though an ancient Greek did all the stone work at the base and Joseph Lyons came and put the chocolate wedding-cake on top. I wonder whether he did? I must ask Stephen. Yes, and that’s brought us back to Stephen. The Albert Memorial and Stephen. How dreadful! When is he going to take you down to Queen�
��s Halt?”

  “He hasn’t said anything about it—yet. You see—it was only yesterday that he—that we—”

  “So it was! Such an attractive house, Elizabeth—in the summer. Ingle nooks and beamed ceilings. Yes, and a warming-pan. Rather draughty in winter—not the warming-pan, but the house. Stephen’s grandfather pushed I don’t know how much Louis Quinze furniture into it, and it simply shrieked. However, we’ve got rid of it all now, so you needn’t be alarmed.” Her hands began to wander over the tea-tray again, and she looked worried. “I’m sure I haven’t said all the things I ought to say. I’ve had no experience, you see, and it’s difficult. Anthony simply said, Please can I marry Cynthia? and I answered, Yes, if you take care of her. I can’t very well tell you to take care of Stephen, can I?”

  “I—I will, though,” Elizabeth said.

  “Yes, I think perhaps you will. The best thing I can say is, Be as happy as you can and—and never give him kippers for breakfast. He hates them.”

  Elizabeth took this quite seriously, and made a mental note of it.

  “Before we—before we’re married, will you please tell me all those sort of things that I ought to know?” she asked diffidently.

  “My dear, I don’t know them myself,” Mrs. Ramsay said. “I only remember about the kippers because Stephen once threw one out of the window. By the tail. It looked so pathetic, and the garden was infested by cats for days afterwards.”

  “Threw it out of the window?” Elizabeth gasped. “Stephen?”

  “Dear me, yes. Quite a dreadful exhibition, wasn’t it? I remember old Mrs. Taunton was staying with us at the time and she was quite surprised. Rather shocked too, and really one can’t wonder at it. Still, it did look funny.”

  “But what an extraordinary thing to do,” Elizabeth said slowly.

  “Most. So inconsiderate too, because I couldn’t bear to think of a kipper lying in the garden, and we all had to go out and look for it after breakfast. Thomas found it, didn’t you, my pet?”

  It was funny, as recounted by Mrs. Ramsay, and Elizabeth laughed, but privately she wondered what she would think if ever Stephen did such a thing in her presence. Something of this was reflected in her face, for, after a pause, Mrs. Ramsay said,

  “You mustn’t think that throwing kippers out of the window is one of Stephen’s vices, my dear. In fact, I’ve never known him do it before or since. On that particular occasion something had gone wrong with his novel, and he vented his wrath on the kipper. Careless of me to have offered him one.”

  “I shall take good care never to have kippers,” Elizabeth remarked. “But seriously, Mrs. Ramsay, will you tell me all his likes and dislikes, and—and—that sort of thing?”

  “I would if I could,” Mrs. Ramsay assured her, with a disarming smile. “Only I can’t, because I don’t remember. If I think of anything I’ll write it down on a piece of paper and lose it. And I can’t tell you anything about housekeeping, because I’m a very bad housekeeper. I never know what day the washing comes home, or whether I’ve paid the books or not. You won’t have to worry about that unless you want to, because Nana housekeeps at Queen’s Halt. Nana is Stephen’s old nurse; such a treasure. She knows everything.”

  “I expect she’ll teach me then,” Elizabeth said slowly. “Is she—very formidable?”

  “No, I don’t think so. She’s rather fussy about not bringing mud into the house, and I don’t think she approves of Stephen’s books, but she’s really quite harmless. She’ll like you, I expect. By the way, when are you going to get married, or don’t you know?”

  “Oh, I—we—haven’t thought about that yet!” Elizabeth said, shrinking. “There’s—there’s heaps of time.”

  “I shouldn’t hurry it too much,” Mrs. Ramsay said. “Stephen will want to carry you off at once, but—oh, I’d wait a little while!”

  Elizabeth looked at her, and again the thought came to her that Mrs. Ramsay did not want Stephen to marry her. She began to fumble with the bead-bag she carried.

  “Why, Mrs. Ramsay?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Because you don’t know one another very well yet, my dear. Do I sound as though I were being nasty? I’m not a bit really. Only Stephen’s the queerest creature on God’s earth, and it would be better for you if you knew what sort of moods he was likely to have, before you married him.”

  “Moods ...” Elizabeth repeated. “Is he—moody?”

  “My child, he calls it ‘artistic temperament.’ So much nicer. Awfully interesting, but sometimes rather trying. His father had it too.” Then Mrs. Ramsay realised that she was saying things to separate Stephen from Elizabeth, and she managed to stop herself, and to smile. “But he’s always charming, and—if you go about it the right way— easy to manage. How dreadful of us to talk about him like this! He wanted to come to tea to-day, and I wouldn’t let him. I preferred to have my future daughter to myself.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Elizabeth said. “It’s easier in a way—to get to know one another. I was—awfully pleased to be able to come.”

  “Rather an ordeal,” Mrs. Ramsay commented.

  “Oh, no!” Elizabeth assured her. “Not a bit!”

  Mrs. Ramsay felt glad that Cynthia was not there. Cynthia would have been triumphant; perhaps she would even have sneered.

  “I want you to come and see me just whenever you feel like it,” Mrs. Ramsay said. “I Don’t bother to ring up; come.”

  “Thank you—it’s very kind of you,” Elizabeth stammered.

  “It isn’t a bit. I want to get to know you, and I want you to know me. So much more satisfactory for both of us. So drop in on me, won’t you? I can’t bear ceremony.”

  “I should love to,” Elizabeth said; but Mrs. Ramsay knew that she would wait to be invited.

  Chapter Ten

  Elizabeth wanted to “show off” her engagement to Mr. Hengist. It was the way Mr. Hengist spoke and looked, the little ironical things he said that made her want to do this. Mr. Hengist thought her stupid; he laughed at her, and said, For God’s sake be natural! Now surely he would recognise that she was not stupid: how could she be when Stephen Ramsay had chosen her for his wife? She had been proud to introduce Stephen to Mr. Hengist as a friend; she was immeasurably proud to speak of him as “my fiance.” The mantle of his brilliancy seemed in some mysterious way to have fallen about her shoulders; she held her head higher; in imagination she was Mrs. Stephen Ramsay “whom you must know, my dear!”

  Yet, in the end, it was disappointing, and Mr. Hengist was unresponding and unimpressed. It was queer how Elizabeth cared for his opinion, and liked him even when he annoyed her most.

  He came one evening to smoke a pipe with Lawrence, and because Lawrence was out, he went into the drawing-room, where Elizabeth sat with Miss Arden.

  “Aha!” Miss Arden cried archly, “you’ve come to congratulate our little Elizabeth!”

  Mr. Hengist shook hands with them both in his quiet way, and said, after the tiniest pause,

  “Yes. I suppose so. I hope you’ll be very happy, Elizabeth.”

  “Well, I must say that’s not very enthusiastic!” Miss Arden said, still arch, but with a touch of acidity in her voice.

  “Isn’t it? I hardly know Ramsay. If you and Lawrence are pleased—”

  “Pleased! We’re delighted—for Elizabeth’s sake.”

  “Then it seems to be most satisfactory,” he said calmly.

  Elizabeth thought how grudgingly he had spoken, how detached was his manner. Pique made her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright, and when Miss Arden went to fetch her knitting, she looked challengingly at Mr. Hengist, and said,

  “Why did you congratulate me in such a funny way, Mr. Hengist? Aren’t you glad?”

  “Very, if you are.”

  “Of course I am! I shouldn’t be engaged if I—if I didn’t love Stephen.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Mr. Hengist looked at her in that quizzical way he had, just as though he didn’t believe her.

  El
izabeth was tired with a long day’s shopping, and pettish.

  “I wish you’d say what you really think!” she said rather snappishly, like Miss Arden.

  Mr. Hengist started to knock his pipe out against the fender; the measured, staccato sound irritated her, and she jerked her head crossly.

  “My dear Elizabeth,” Mr. Hengist said slowly, “don’t you realize that that is the last thing in the world you want?”

  She was startled, and her eyelids flew wide.

  “I don’t know what you mean!”

  “You ask me to say what I really think. That would be the truth, Elizabeth—the thing you’ve run away from all your life.”

  “I haven’t!” she said hotly. “It’s only what you think! I—I do want you to tell me your real opinion!”

  “Very well,” he answered. He shifted his shoulders into the chair, as though he were digging himself in. “I think that you’re making a mistake—and I’m sorry.”

  Elizabeth gripped the arms of her chair, staring at him.

  “How—how can you say such a horrible thing? I— making a mistake? I think it’s most unkind of you! And how can you know?”

  “I didn’t think you’d care for my honest opinion, did I?” he replied, unruffled. “But you asked for it, and I’m going to give it. No one has ever made you look into yourself. Ever done it? Of course you haven’t. You cheat, Elizabeth.”

  “I don’t! Oh, I don’t!”

  “You cheat yourself, which is far worse than cheating other people. It isn’t all your fault, but it’s time you stopped. I know you think you’re in love with Ramsay— perhaps you are. I don’t think so. Yes, that’s a pretty beastly thing to say, isn’t it? It’s necessary though. You believe in the thing you either want to believe in, or that your—other people—expect you to believe in. You’ve read sickly trash, and you’re susceptible to glamour. There’s glamour about Ramsay; it’s caught you. Ask yourself, child, whether you would still be in love with him if he were on the Stock Exchange.”

  “Yes!”

  “Then you ’re in love, and I withdraw all I have said.”

  “You don’t believe me?”