So Horace, who had always been friendly with Mrs Penkethman, grew now more than ever friendly with Mrs Penkethman.  And Mrs Penkethman and Ella were inseparable.  The few aristocrats left in Bursley in September remarked that Horace knew what he was about, as it was notorious that Ella had the most solid expectations.  But as a matter of fact Horace did not know what he was about, and he never once thought of Ella’s expectations.  He was simply, as they say in Bursley, knocked silly by Ella.  He honestly imagined her to be the wonderfullest woman on the earth’s surface, with her dark eyes and her expressive sympathetic gestures, and her alterations of seriousness and gaiety.  It astounded him that a girl of twenty-one could have thought so deeply upon life as she had.  The inexplicable thing was that she looked up to him.  She evidently admired him.  He wanted to tell her that she was quite wrong about him, much too kind in her estimate of him—­that really he was a very ordinary man indeed.  But another instinct prevented him from thus undeceiving her.

And one Saturday afternoon, the season being late September, Horace actually got those two women up to tea in his house and garden.  He had not dared to dream of such bliss.  He had hesitated long before asking them to come, and in asking them he had blushed and stammered:  the invitation had seemed to him to savour of audacity.  But, bless you! they had accepted with apparent ecstasy.  They gave him to think that they had genuinely wanted to come.  And they came extra-specially dressed—­visions, lilies of the field.  And as the day was quite warm, tea was served in the garden, and everybody admired the view; and there was no restraint, no awkwardness.  In particular Ella talked with an ease and a distinction that enchanted Horace, and almost made him talk with ease and distinction too.  He said to himself that, seeing he had only known her a month, he was getting on amazingly.  He said to himself that his good luck passed belief.

Then there was a sound of cab-wheels on the other side of the garden-wall, and presently Horace heard the housekeeper complimenting Sidney on his good looks, and Sidney asking the housekeeper to lend him three shillings to pay the cabman.  The golden youth had returned without the slightest warning from his cruise.  The tea trio, at the lower end of the garden, saw him standing in the porch, tanned, curly, graceful, and young.  Horace half rose, and then sat down again.  Ella stared hard.

‘That must be your brother,’ she said.

‘Yes, that’s Sid,’ Horace answered; and then, calling out loudly:  ’Come down here, Sid, and tell them to bring another cup and saucer.’

‘Right you are, old man,’ Sidney shouted.  ’You see I’m back.  What!  Mrs Penkethman, is that you?’ He came down the central path of the garden like a Narcissus.

‘He does look delicate,’ said Ella under her breath to Horace.  Tears came to her eyes.