“Dad’s wanted a shop of his own so long,” she sighed, “And it’ll be quite charming. He does understand colours! Wish he wouldn’t wear black all the time.... I always feel fearfully moral at two in the morning. I’m going to lecture you.” “What about?” “You’re so damned chilly. You always were, of course. Don’t you like anything?” They came to the Ilden house before he could answer and Margot didn’t repeat the question all the week he stayed in London. They were seldom alone. Lady Ilden seemed to want the girl near her. There were incessant callers. Men plainly flocked after the dark girl. Her frankness added something to the wearisome chaff of teatime and theatre parties, to the dazing slang of the young officers. Gurdy speculated from corners, edged in at random dances. But his blood had caught a fresh pulsation. He felt a trail of mockery in the artifice of Lady Ilden’s talk as if the tired woman observed him falling into love and found it humorous. She said once, “I was afraid you’d grown up too fast. And you’ve not,” but he let the chance of an argument slide by his preoccupation with the visible flutter of Margot’s hands pinning a tear in her yellow frock. His resistance weakened although he hunted repugnances, tried to shiver when the girl swore. “Profanity’s a sign of poor imagination,” he told her. “The hell you say,” said Margot. “Haven’t turned out on the heavy side, have you, Gurdy? I bar serious souls. War shaken you to the foundations? Cheeryo! You’ll get over it.” And she walked upstairs singing, “There ayn’t a goin’ to be no wa-ah, Now we’ve got a king like good King Hedward, There ayn’t a goin’ to be no wa-ah. ’E ’ates that sort of fing, Muvvers, don’t worry, Now we’ve got a king like Hedward, Peace wiv ’onor is ’is motter, So, God sive the king!” VI Gurdy