The evening was half through when John Armitage appeared in the doorway. Sophie had just come from dancing the quadrilles with Potch when she saw Armitage standing in the doorway with Peter Newton. Potch saw him as Sophie did; their eyes met. Michael came towards them.
"Mr. Armitage did come, I see," Sophie said quietly, as Potch and Michael were looking towards the door. "I had a letter from him a few weeks ago saying he thought he would be here for the ball," she added.
"Why has he come?" Michael asked.
"I don't know," she said. "To see me, I suppose ... and to find out whether the men will do business with him again."
Michael's gesture implied it was useless to talk of that.
Sophie continued: "But you know what I said, Michael. I can't be happy until it has been arranged. I owe it to him to put things right with the men here.... You must do that for me, Michael. They know I'm going to marry Potch ... and if they see there's no ill feeling between John Armitage and me, they'll believe I was more to blame than he was—if it's a question of blame.... I want you and Potch to stand by me in this, Michael."
Potch's eyes turned to her. She read their assurance, deep, still, and sure. But Michael showed no relenting.
Armitage left his place by the door and came towards them. All eyes in the room were on him. A whisper of surprise and something like fear had circled. He was as aware of it, and of the situation his coming had created, as anyone in the hall; but he appeared unconscious and indifferent, and as if there were no particular significance to attach to his being at the ball and crossing to speak to Sophie.
She met him with the same indifference and smiling detachment. They had met so often before people like this, that it was not much more for them than playing a game they had learned to play rather well.
Sophie said: "It is you really?"