Elsie remained demure beneath what she perfectly recognised as a form of self-hypnotism, rather than conscious humbug, on the part of her mother. There was at least no sentimentality in her leave-taking a week later. “Good-bye, Elsie, and mind and not be up to any of your tricks, now. Mother’ll expect you on Sunday next.” “Good-bye, Mother,” said Elsie indifferently. She had that morning washed her hair, which made it very soft and fluffy, and had pinned it up in half a dozen fat little sausages at the back of her head. She was preoccupied with her own appearance, and with the knowledge that the newly-revealed back of her neck was white and pretty. She wore a blue serge coat and skirt, a low-cut blouse of very pale pink figured voile, black shoes and stockings, and a dashing little hat, round and brimless, with a big black bow that she had herself added to it on the previous night. In the Tube railway, a man in the seat opposite to her stared at her very hard. Elsie looked away, but kept on turning her eyes furtively towards him, without moving her head. Every time that she did this, their eyes met. The man was young, with bold eyes and a wide mouth. Presently he smiled at her. Elsie immediately looked down at the toes of her new black shoes, moving them this way and that as though to catch the light reflected in their polish. At Belsize Park Station she got out, carrying her suitcase. As she passed the youth in the corner, she glanced at him again, then stepped out of the train and went up the platform without looking behind her. Although there was a crowd on the platform and in the lift, and although she never looked round, Elsie could tell that he was following her. The feeling that this gave her, half fearful and half delighted, was an agreeable titilation to her vanity. She had experienced it before, just as she had often been followed in the street before, but it never lost its flavour. When she was in the street, she began to walk steadily along, gazing straight in front of her. She heard steps on the pavement just behind her, and then the young man of the train accosted her, raising his hat as he spoke: “Aren’t you going to give me the pleasure of your acquaintance?” he suavely enquired. His voice was very polite, and his eyes looked faintly amused. “Oh!” Elsie cried in a startled tone. “I don’t think I know you, do I?” “All the more reason to begin now. Mayn’t I carry that bag for you?” He took it and they walked on together. “Perhaps you can tell me where Mortimer Crescent is,” Elsie said primly. “It will be my proudest privilege to escort you there,” he replied in mock bombastic tones. It was a form of persiflage well known to Elsie, and she laughed in reply. “You _are_ silly, aren’t you?” “Not at all. Now if you called me cheeky, perhaps....” “I’ll call you cheeky fast enough. A regular Cheeky Charlie, by the look of you!”