The new fiancee herself talked rather more than usual, though this meant by no means loquacity, and presented more the appearance of composure than any one else there; although this was amusingly broken by a sudden shortness of breath whenever she met Arnold’s eyes.  She said in answer to a question that she would be going on to her hospital the day after tomorrow—­her two weeks’ vacation over—­oh yes, she would finish her course at the hospital; she had only a few more months.  And in answer to another question, Arnold replied, obviously impatient at having to speak to any one but Judith, that of course he didn’t mind if she went on and got her nurse’s diploma—­didn’t she want to?  Anything she wanted....

No—­decidedly the thing was too big to make a successful fete of.  Morrison was silent and appreciatively observant, his eyes sometimes on Sylvia, sometimes on Judith; Mr. Sommerville, continuing doggedly to make talk, descended to unheard-of trivialities in reporting the iniquities of his chauffeur; Molly stirred an untasted cup, did not raise her eyes at all, and spoke only once or twice, addressing to Sylvia a disconnected question or two, in the answers to which she had obviously no interest.  Judith and Arnold had never been very malleable social material, and in their present formidable condition they were as little assistance in the manufacture of geniality as a couple of African lions.

The professional fete-makers were consequently enormously relieved when it was over and their unavailing efforts could be decently discontinued.  Professing different reasons for escape, they moved in disjointed groups across the smooth perfection of the lawn towards the house, where Molly’s car stood, gleaming in the sun.  Sylvia found herself, as she expected, manoeuvered to a place beside Morrison.  He arranged it with his unobtrusive deftness in getting what he wanted out of a group of his fellow-beings, and she admired his skill, and leaned on it confidently.  They had had no opportunity that day for the long talk which had been a part of every afternoon for the last week; and she now looked with a buoyant certainty to have him arrange an hour together before dinner.  Her anticipation of it on that burning day of reflected heat sent thrills of eager disquietude over her.  It was not only for Judith and Arnold that the last week had been one of meeting eyes, long twilight evenings of breathless, quick-ripening intimacy....

As they slackened their pace to drop behind Mr. Sommerville, who walked hand-in-hand with his granddaughter in front of them, Morrison said, looking at her with burning eyes, “... an instrument so finely strung that it vibrates at the mere sound of another wakened to melody—­what mortal man lives who would not dream of its response if he could set his own hand to the bow?”