Only Phyllis Desmond, the art-student, lingered. Dorothy reminded her that they had met at her aunt Vera Harrison's house.
The art-student smiled. "I wondered when you were going to remember."
"I did, but they all called you Desmond. That's what put me out."
"Everybody calls me Desmond. You had a brother or something with you, hadn't you?"
"I might have had two. Which? Michael's got green eyes and yellow hair. Nicky's got blue eyes and black hair."
"It was Nicky--nice name--then."
Desmond's beauty stirred in its sleep. The film of air was lifted from her black eyes.
"I'm dining with Mrs. Harrison to-night," she said.
"You'll be late then."
"It doesn't matter. Lawrence Stephen's never there till after eight. She won't dine without him."