“Where are you going for that?” Mrs. Palmer enquired. “I haven’t made up my mind. Anywhere near the sea is good enough for me.” “My husband and I are thinking of Torquay,” Elsie said. “We’ve been wondering if you’d care to come along, Geraldine. I suppose Mother wants to stew on in London, as per usual.” “That’s right,” Mrs. Palmer assented complacently. She looked at her younger daughter with approval. It was the first time, actually, that Elsie had ever invited Geraldine to spend a holiday with her. “Torquay is a first-rate place,” declared Leslie Morrison enthusiastically. “I was there once on business, and I quite made up my mind to return one day.” “Thanks very much, Elsie,” Geraldine said rather coldly. “It’s a long journey, isn’t it, and I’m a wretched traveller, as you know.” “Please yourself. Horace wants a thorough change, and we’re sick of Wales. We’ve been there every year ever since we were married.” “Come, I don’t suppose that makes much of a total, does it?” Morrison gallantly remarked, looking at Elsie. “More than you’d think for, perhaps. I was caught young--eighteen, if you want to know.” “Elsie,” said her mother abruptly, “have you been to see your aunties lately?” She directed the conversation so that no more personalities were possible, until Elsie rose and said good-bye. “Allow me,” said Morrison, as he helped her to put on her coat. Elsie fumbled for the sleeve-hole until she felt the guiding pressure of his fingers on her arm. “Thanks ever so much. Well, good-bye, Mr. Morrison. Let me know if you come up our way any time.” “I ... I hope you’re going to let me see you to your ’bus,” he said rather awkwardly. “Really, there’s no need--I couldn’t think of troubling you.” Elsie took no pains to hide that her protest was a purely conventional one. “Put on your hat, Geraldine, and go with them. A walk’ll do you good,” urged Mrs. Palmer. But Geraldine, as she frequently did, had turned sulky. “I’ve got something to do upstairs,” she muttered, and disappeared. It was exactly like Geraldine, Elsie thought, to cut off her nose just to spite her face. Not that it could have made any difference if she had succeeded in preventing that brief walk taken by Leslie Morrison and Elsie Williams. Elsie knew, beyond any possibility of mistake, the very first moment at which a spark from her own personality had lit the flame destined to burn more or less fiercely in that of another. But this time she experienced an odd excitement that held in it something new.