“It is still true.”

“How magnificent.”

It was her turn now to ward off what she was longing for.  To be serious with Matthew was a form of disarmament you always regretted.

“And knowing you as I do, I recognise the crusading light in your eye and I must point out to you that your altruistic excursions have not always ended by tidying up the situation.”

“Alas, no.”

“Now, why plunge into the eternal triangle?  There is really no role for you unless you propose to supplant the cow.  What, by the way, is her name?”

“Grace.”

“I don’t like the statuesque,” he said, wrinkling up his eyes.  “Look at her ecstatic vacant expression.  A dangerous combination.”

Virginia wished she had not given him this theme.  He would weave it into such marvellous patterns that she would never be able to get it out intact again.

“I must have some more facts,” he said.  “What is the squirrel called?”

“Estelle.”

“And the hero?”

“Edgar.”

“More and more suitable.  What prophetic parents!  How admirably they kept their heads at the font.  The squirrel is very vivacious—­is it a brave front, a blind eye or a shallow heart?”

“Estelle is a courageous woman and discreet with the unpierceable reticence of spontaneity.”

“How delightful.  I might try Estelle myself.”

“You might.”

“If I said ‘I love you,’ would she laugh or cry?”

“Laugh, I think.”

“With a little hidden tear in her voice?”

“I have my doubts about the hidden tear.”

“Then she would be no good to me.  I like mixed effects.”

At this moment Grace and Edgar danced by.  They were both radiantly fair and a little colossal in scale.  Her eyes were half shut and her mouth was half open.

“Matthew,” Virginia was firm, “something must be done.  How can he scale the heights of a great passion carrying that hold-all?”

“An empty hold-all isn’t so very heavy.”

“It is if you can’t put it down.”

“Virginia,” he said, “your missionary zeal appals me.  Why invade the situation?  What are you going to tell the man?  That he has children?”

“No.  That he is throwing his life into a cul-de-sac.”

“He won’t believe you.”

“No.”

“And it will probably end by his falling in love with you and think what a terrible mess the cow and the squirrel will make.”

Edgar came up to them.

“Will you give me the pleasure of a dance?”

“I should love to.”

Virginia’s apricot had become a strand in the pattern of the ball-room.

A parma violet lady settled on Matthew like a fly.

“I can’t think how you have anything left to say to Virginia,” she remarked disagreeably.  “But I suppose you simply make love to her.”

“It is not simple at all.”