The day after the dance, Michael came round about twelve o’clock as usual, but when he reached the sitting-room only Sylvia was before the fire.
“Lily isn’t down yet,” she told him.
He was aware of a breathlessness in the atmosphere, and he knew that he and Sylvia were shortly going to clash.
“Jolly dance?” he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders, and there was a long pause.
“Will Lily be dressed soon? I rather want to take her out.” Michael flung down his challenge.
“She’s been talking to me about what you said yesterday,” Sylvia began.
Michael could not help liking her more and more, although her countenance was set against him. He could not help admiring that out-thrust underlip and those wide-set, deep and bitter brown eyes.
“When do you propose to marry her?” Sylvia went on.
“As soon as possible,” he said coolly.