Sternly she tried not to think of Francis Sales, who had deserted her. She might have known he would desert her. He had looked at Aunt Rose and she had seen him weaken, yet he had promised. He was that kind of man: he could not say no to her face, but he left her in this city, all alone. Her lips trembled; she steadied them with difficulty. She was determined not to honour him with so much as a memory or a regret, but there came forbidden recollections of the dance, of the terrace, and of her hands in his. She closed her eyes and a tremor, delicious, horrible, ran through her body. She felt the strength of those brown, muscular hands and she was assailed by the odour of wind and tobacco that clung to him. He had never said anything worth remembering, but there had been danger and excitement in his presence. There was neither in the neighbourhood of Charles, yet she could not forget his words. She opened her eyes. “What was it you said just now?” “You’re the best and most beautiful woman in the world. Your fish is getting cold.” She ate it without appetite or distaste. “But, Charles—” “I know.” “What?” “Everything,” he said. “How?” He tapped himself, “Here.” “I expect you’ve got it all wrong.” “Yesterday, perhaps, but not to-day. To-day I know everything.” “How does it feel?” “Wonderful,” he replied. They laughed together but, as though with that laughter the door to emotion had been opened, he saw tears start into her eyes. “No,” he begged, “there’s no need to cry.” She laughed again. “I’ve got to cry some time.” “When we’re going home, then. We’re going home in a car.” “Are we?” she said, pleased as a child. “But what about London, Charles? I have to go.” “Not to-night. Here’s some chicken.” “I can’t go back.” “But you haven’t left a note.” “No.” “Then it’s easy. You and I have just been to a concert. You promised me that long ago.” She uttered no more protests. She ate and drank obediently, glad to be cared for, and when the meal was over she told him gratefully, “You have been good. You never said another word about the band and it has made even my head ache.” “And I forgot about it!” He stared at her in amazement. “I forgot about it! I didn’t hear it! Good heavens! But come away quickly before I begin remembering.” That they might be able to tell the truth, they went to the concert and, standing at the back of the hall stayed there for a little while. Even for Charles, the music was only a covering for his thoughts. Henrietta, strangely gentle, was beside him, but he dwelt less on that than on the greater marvel of the new power he felt within himself. She might laugh at him, she might mock him in the future, but she could not daunt him, and though she might never love him, he had done her service. No one could take that from him. He turned his head and looked down at her, to find her looking up at him, a little puzzled but entirely friendly.