Mamma’s rasping little laugh of amusement sounded in her ears as she rose and followed him. He put an arm closely round her and murmured: ‘Come on now. Perform! Perform!’--and they went gliding, pausing and turning round the empty floor, while everyone stared and the band smilingly played up to them. The rhythm of their bodies responded together, without an error, to the music’s broken emotionalism. ‘Once, Julian, you refused to dance with me.’ ‘Ah, you were a little girl then. It would have been no use. _Et maintenant, n’est-ce-pas, la petite est devenue femme?_ We shall get on very well. After a silence he said: ‘You wear beautiful clothes. You carry yourself to perfection. You have an air.... There is nobody in this room to touch you. What are you going to do with it all?’ ‘Oh, exploit it, exploit it!’ He held her away from him a moment to look down into her face. ‘_Tiens! Tiens!_ Is gentle Judith going to start being a devil?... It would be amusing to see her try.’ ‘Oh, I will! I’d be most successful. You shall see.’ He laughed, watching her. ‘May I help you? Shall we tread the primrose path together?’ She nodded. ‘Well, start by looking a little more as if you were going to enjoy it. Have you ever been happy? No. Whenever you come near to being, you start thinking: ‘Now I am happy. How interesting.... Am I really happy?’ You must learn a little continental _abandon_--I’ll teach you.’ ‘You!’ ‘---- and scornful as well! Oh, Judith, you’re getting on. I like to see your mouth trying to be hard. It has such pretty points.’ The music stopped, and she disengaged herself. A few people clapped, and she nodded and smiled to the band ... performing, performing; conspicuously self-possessed.... ‘Good!’ said Julian. ‘Oh, good!’ She turned to him and said: ‘Thank you, Julian. That was exhilarating.’ ‘Yes, you look as if you’d found it so.’ His eyes, brilliant with nervous fatigue, pierced her with a glance too penetrating. ‘What a pity,’ he said, ‘you’re so unhappy.’ ‘If it were so,’ she said, starting to walk back towards her chair, ‘it would be a pity.... Or perhaps that would be exhilarating too.’ ‘Oh, don’t be enigmatical with your old friend,’ he said plaintively. She laughed and gave him her hand. ‘Good night, Julian. You go to bed. You’re so tired you can hardly stand upright. To-morrow we’ll start enjoying ourselves frightfully. You’ll stay a bit, won’t you?’ ‘Oh, I’ll stay,’ he said. ‘I think the moment is auspicious for me.... Didn’t I always say I could wait my turn?’ ‘Yes, you said so. You have a _flair_ undoubtedly. You are full of _finesse_.... Good night.’ She waved a hand and left him. Something was afoot.... He had come casting shadows before and behind him. Old things were stirring: the old illness of remembering was going to start again. And ahead was not a glimmer. 9