"I shall go to bed in it," she said, "so as to have it all night long. It feels so delicious. I wish I could see it. It was the very thing I saw in Bond Street a few weeks ago, and wanted to wear at Hilda's wedding." She broke off with a sudden sigh. "It will be horrid when Hilda's married."
"Will it?" he said.
"Yes, horrid," she repeated with vehemence. "Aunt Philippa is going to turn all her attention to me then. Of course, I know she is very kind, but—well, I feel as if this is my last week of freedom. I shall be almost glad when—" She broke off abruptly. "Do let us go and rescue Bertie," she said, "before we get swallowed up in the crowd."
He got up at once and silently offered his arm. She slipped her hand within it, and gave it a little squeeze.
"We'll dance to the finale next time," she said lightly. "It's much more fun than talking."
She added carelessly, as they moved away together: "By the way, I had my photograph taken this morning. I don't know if you will like it. Shall I send you one?"
"Do," he said. And after a moment, smiling faintly: "Was that the thing that was to please me?"
She nodded, not looking at him.
He laid his hand for an instant upon hers. "Thank you, Chris," he said.
She turned instantly and smiled upon him. "You can give it to Bertie if you don't like it," she made blithe response.