She could feel his eye on her dress. It was a blue dress, and she had bought it because she liked the colour, and of course that was a mistake. If you’ve only got one dining-out dress, it’s simply got to be black, and no matter what else you do without, it’s got to be good. Then you just go on wearing it until one of you dies.

She met the eye with firmness mitigated by the dimples.

“It’s no good-I know it all by heart-it hasn’t got any line, and line is what sees you through. But it’s a nice colour, isn’t it?”

“My child, it’s a disaster.”

Dorinda was not lacking in spirit.

“What’s the good of saying that when I’ve got it on? The pink one was worse-I’ve given it away. And you can say what you like, this one suits me. Tip said it did.”

“Tip Remington is in the maudlin state of mind in which he would say anything.”

“Buzzer said so too.”

“Did he?”

Justin’s voice was completely uninterested in Buzzer Blake. He was consulting the menu, and proceeded to catch the head-waiter’s eye. After an intimate and technical discussion he turned back to Dorinda, who was solacing herself for her lost lunch by thinking that it sounded as if it was going to be a heavenly dinner, and said,

“Are you engaged to either of them?”

She came out of a lovely dream of food and met his eyes frankly.

“Well, I don’t know-”

Justin’s eyebrows rose, as at a social solecism.

“Hadn’t you better find out? I should hate to interfere, but you can’t marry them both.”

“Oh, I’m not marrying them. I don’t want to marry anyone for a long time.”

The soup arrived. It smelt heavenly. It was very difficult to take it slowly enough, but Aunt Mary’s iron training held. One of the last things she had said to Dorinda was, ‘Well, I’ve only got fifty pounds a year to leave you, but I’ve taught you how to behave like a gentlewoman.’ There were moments when she found it inconvenient. This was one of them. She was very hungry.