She woke each morning to the thought of gaiety and to the realization of comfort and the blessed absence of anxiety. Her occupation was the getting of enjoyment and she took it all eagerly yet without greed, and as she was enriched she became generous with her own offerings of laughter, sympathy and affection. She liked and looked for the brightening of Caroline and Sophia at her approach, she became pleasantly aware of her own ability to charm and she rejoiced in an exterior world no longer limited to streets. Each morning she went to her window and looked over and beyond the roofs, so beautiful and varied in themselves, to the trees screening the open country across the river and if the sight reminded her to sigh for her own sorrows and to think bitterly of Aunt Rose, she had not time to linger on her emotions. Summer was gay in Upper Radstowe. There were tea-parties and picnics, she paid calls with her aunts and learnt to play lawn tennis with her contemporaries. Her friendship with the Battys ripened. She was always sure of her welcome at Prospect House, and though she often assured herself that she could love no one but Francis Sales, that was no reason why others should not love her. From that point of view John Batty was a failure. He took her to a cricket match, but finding that she did not know the alphabet of the game, and was more interested in the spectators than in the players, he gave her up. He admired her appearance, but it did not make amends for ignorance of such a grossness; and, equally displeased with him, she returned home alone while he watched out the match. The next day when she paid her usual Sunday visit, she ignored him pointedly and mentally crossed him off her list. Charles, ugly and odd, was infinitely more responsive, though he greeted her on this occasion with reproach. “You went to a cricket match yesterday with John.” “It was very boring and I got a headache. I shall never go again.” “He said he wouldn’t take you.” Henrietta smiled subtly, implying a good deal. “I shouldn’t have thought,” Charles went on mournfully, “of suggesting such a thing.” “My aunts were rather shocked. I went on the top of a tramcar with him.” “But if you can go out with him, why shouldn’t you go out with me?” “But where?” Henrietta questioned practically. “Well, to a concert.” “When?” “When there is one. I don’t know. They won’t have one in this God-forsaken place until the autumn.” “That’s a long time ahead.” He spread his hands. “You see, I never have any luck. I just want you to promise.” “Oh, I’ll promise,” Henrietta said. “It will be the first time I’ve been anywhere with a girl,” he said. “I don’t get on.” “Have you wanted to?” He sighed. “Yes, but not much.” Her laughter, which was so pretty, startled him; it also delighted him with its music, and his sad eyes grew wider and more vague. He had an inspiration. “I’ll take you home now.” “I’m not going home. I’ve promised to go to Sales Hall.”