But she did not like to stand before him, offering him first the cup of tea, then the milk and sugar, then the cake, and bread and butter.  Her repugnance had nothing to do with him; it was an obscure feeling, quite incomprehensible to herself.  When he looked up she answered him with a smile which she felt to be mysterious, and he perceived its mystery, for he compared it to the hesitating smile of the Monna Lisa, a print of which hung on the wall.  But the remark increased her foreboding and premonition.  And she was sorry for her father, who was saying that he hoped to send her abroad in the spring; that he would have done so before, but she was studying harmony with him.  And she could see that Owen was bored.  He was only staying on in the hope of speaking to her, but she knew that her father was not going out, so there was no chance of their having a few words together.  His invitation to Mr. Innes to bring the instruments to London, and give a concert to-morrow night at Berkeley Square, he had reserved till the moment he had got up to go.  Mr. Innes was taken aback.  He doubted if there would be time to get the instruments to London.  But Owen said that all that was necessary was a Pickford van, and that if he would say “Yes,” the van and a competent staff of packers would be at Dulwich in the morning, and would take all further trouble off his hands.  The question was debated.  Mr. Innes thought the instruments had better go by train, and Owen could not help smiling when he said that he would arrive with the big harpsichord and Evelyn about nine or half-past.

She had two evening gowns—­a pale green silk and a white.  The pale green looked very nice; it had cost her three pounds.  The white had nearly ruined her, but it had seemed to suit her so well that she had not been able to resist, and had paid five pounds ten, a great deal for her to spend on a dress.  Its great fault was that it soiled at the least touch.  She had worn it three times, and could not wear it again till it had been cleaned.  It was a pity, but there was no help for it.  She would have to wear the green, and to console herself she thought of the compliments she had had for it at different parties.  But these seemed insignificant when she thought of the party she was going to to-night.

She had never been to Berkeley Square, and expected to be surprised.  But it lay in a hollow, a dignified, secluded square, exactly as she had imagined it.  Nor did the great doorway, and the carpet that stretched across the pavement for her to walk upon, surprise her, nor the lines of footmen, nor the natural grace of the wide staircase.  She seemed to have seen it all before, only she could not remember where.  It came back to her like a dream.  She seemed to recognise the pictures of the goddesses, the Holy Families and the gold mirrors; and lifting her eyes, she saw Owen at the head of the stairs, and he smiled so familiarly, that it seemed strange to think that this was only the third time she had seen him.