A feeling of exhilaration amounting to recklessness Jane as she put on the white serge coat and skirt sacred to the Sabbath crocodile. in it Renata, side by side with Daphne Todhunter, had, doubtless, walked many a time to church and back. In front of her two white serge backs, behind her more white serge, and more, and more, and more. Jane’s head reeled. She this garment, but considered it appropriate to the occasion.  
They drove into Withstead across the . The sun blazed, and all the tiny plants seemed to be growing and stretching themselves.
 
Mrs. Cottingham lived in a on the of the town, and was ashamed of it. She had married kind little Dr. Cottingham, but imagined that she had in doing so. Her reasons for thinking this were not apparent.
 
Jane followed Lady Heritage into the dark, rather drawing-room, and a woman with a controlled Victorian figure, a tightly netted grey fringe, and a brown satin dress with a good many little gold upon it. She had a breathless sense of the extraordinary way in which the room was overcrowded. Every inch of the walls was covered with photographs, fans, engravings, and china plates. Almost every inch of floor space was covered with small tables crowded with knick-knacks. There was a carved screen, and an ebonised overmantel with looking-glass panels. There was a Japanese umbrella in the fireplace.
 
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Jane’s eyes looked hastily into every corner. There were more things than she had ever seen in one room before, but there was no Daphne Todhunter. Mrs. Cottingham was shaking hands with her. She had a fat hand and squeezed you.
 
“And are you Daphne’s Miss Molloy?” she said. “She was wildly excited at the of meeting you, and I said at once, ‘I’ll just ring up Luttrell Marches, and ask Lady Heritage to bring her here this afternoon.’ I thought I might do that. You see, I only happened to mention your name this morning, and Daphne was so excited, and she goes away tomorrow, so it was the only chance. So I thought I would just ring up and ask Lady Heritage to bring you. I said to Daphne at once, ‘Lady Heritage is so kind, I’m sure she will bring Miss Molloy.’”
 
Jane saw Lady Heritage’s rise very slightly. She moved a step, and instantly Mrs. Cottingham had turned from Jane:
 
“Why Lady Heritage, you’re ! Now I always say this is the most comfortable chair.”
 
Her voice went flowing on, but Jane suddenly ceased to hear a word she said, for a door at the far end of the room was flung open. On the threshold appeared Miss Daphne Todhunter.
 
In common with most other Daphnes, Cynthias and Ianthes, she was short and rather heavily built. Her brown hair was untidy. She wore the twin coat and skirt to that which was Jane.
 
 
With an of , she rushed across the room, dislodging a book from one little table and an ash-tray from another.
 
(“Her eyes are exactly like gooseberries which have been boiled until they are brown,” thought Jane, “and I know she’s going to kiss me.”)
 
She not only kissed Jane, she hugged her. Two arms and a of white rose Jane’s shrinking form.
 
After a moment in which she wondered how long this embrace would last, Jane managed to detach herself. Mrs. Cottingham’s voice fell gratefully upon her ears:
 
“Daphne, Daphne, my dear, come and speak to Lady Heritage.—She’s wildly excited, as I told you—the natural enthusiasms of youth, dear Lady Heritage, so beautiful, so quickly lost; I’m sure you agree with me.—Daphne, Daphne, my dear.”
 
Daphne came reluctantly and thrust a large hand at Lady Heritage without looking at her. Raymond looked at it for a moment, and, after a perceptible pause, just touched the finger-tips. Mrs. Cottingham never stopped talking.
 
“So it is your friend, and you’re just too excited for words. Take her away and have a good gossip. Lady Heritage and I have a great deal to talk about.—You were saying....”
 
“I was saying,” said Lady Heritage wearily, “that you must write at once if you want Masterson to lecture for you next winter.”
 
Daphne dragged Jane to the far end of the room.
 
“Oh, Renata, how delicious! But how did you come here? And what are you doing, and where’s Arnold, and why aren’t you with him?” She made a at Jane’s left hand, and felt the third finger.
 
“Oh, where’s your ring?” she said.
 
“Hush!” said Jane.
 
They reached a sofa and sank upon it. Immediately in front of them was an octagonal table of light-coloured wood carved. Upon it, amongst portraits, stood a tall photograph of Mrs. Cottingham in a train, and feathers, and a tiara. The sofa was low, and Jane felt that fate had been kinder than she deserved.
 
“Oh, Renata, aren’t you married?” breathed Daphne.
 
She breathed very hard, and Jane was reminded of Arnold on the fire-escape.
 
“Oh, Renata, tell me! When she ... Mrs. Cottingham said, ‘Miss Renata Molloy,’ I nearly died. I said, ‘Miss Molloy?’ And she said, ‘Yes, Miss Renata Molloy,’ and oh, I very nearly let the cat out of the bag.” She grasped Jane’s hand and pressed it violently. “But I didn’t. Arnold told me not to, and I didn’t, but, of course, I’m simply dying to know all about everything. Now, darling, tell me ... tell me everything.”
 
Never in her life had Jane felt so much from any human creature. There was something so inexpressibly comic in the idea of pouring out her heart to Daphne Todhunter that she did not even feel nervous, only aloof—aloof, and cool. She looked earnestly at Daphne, and said:
 
“What did Arnold tell you?”
 
 
“It was the greatest shock,” said Daphne, “and such a surprise. One minute there he was, moving about at home, and not knowing when he would get a job, and perfectly distracted with hopelessness about you; and the next he rushed down to say good-bye because he was going to Bolivia, and his heart was broken because you wouldn’t go too....” She stopped for breath, and squeezed Jane’s hand even harder than before. “And then,” she continued, “you can imagine what a shock it was to get the letter-card.”
 
“Yes,” said Jane, “it must have been. What did it say?”
 
Daphne opened her eyes and her mouth.
 
“Didn’t he show it to you? How perfectly extraordinary of him!”
 
“Well, he didn’t” said Jane. “What did he say?”
 
“I know it by heart,” said Daphne . “I could repeat every word.”
 
“Well, for goodness’ sake do!”
 
“Renata! How odd you are, not a bit like yourself!” Fear stabbed Jane.
 
“Tell me what he said—tell me what he said,” she repeated.
 
With an effort she pressed the hand that was squeezing hers.
 
“What, Arnold, in the lett............