This note half amused and half irritated Craven on a first reading. On a second reading irritation predominated in him. Miss Van Tuyn’s determined relegation of Lady Sellingworth to the past seemed somehow to strike at him, to make him--or to intend to make him--ridiculous; and her deliberate classing of him with herself in the underlined “_our_” seemed rather like an attempt to assert authority, the authority of youth over him. But no doubt this was very natural. Craven was quite sure that Miss Van Tuyn cared nothing about him. But he was a not disagreeable and quite presentable young man; he had looked into her violet eyes, had pressed her hand, had held it longer than was at all necessary, had in fact shown that he was just a young man and easily susceptible; and so she did not choose to let an elderly woman take possession of him even for an hour without sharpening a weapon or two and bringing them into use. No wonder that men are conceited when women so swiftly take up arms on their account! For a moment Craven almost disliked Miss Van Tuyn, and made up his mind that there would be no “next time” for him in Soho while she was in London. He knew that whenever they met he would feel her attraction; but he now classed it with those attractions of the past which were disgustingly explicable, and which just recently he had learnt to understand in a way that was almost old. Was he putting on horn spectacles while his eyesight was still unimpaired? He felt doubtful, almost confused for a moment. Was his new feeling for Lady Sellingworth subtly pulling him away from his youth? Where was he going? Perhaps this new sensation of movement was only deceptive; perhaps he was not on the way to an unknown region. For a moment he wished that he could talk freely, openly, with some understanding friend, a man of course. But though he had plenty of men friends he could not think of one he would be able to confide his present feelings to. Already he began to realize the human ridicule which always attends upon any departure from what, according to the decision of all absolutely ordinary people, is strictly normal. Everybody would understand and approve if he were to fall desperately in love with Beryl Van Tuyn; but if he were to prefer a great friendship with Lady Sellingworth to a love affair with her youthful and beautiful friend no one would understand, and everybody would be ready to laugh and condemn. He knew this and yet he felt obstinate, mulish almost, as he sat down to reply non-committally to Miss Van Tuyn’s letter. It was only when he did this that he thought seriously about its last words.