Between sips she imparted her views on matrimony.

“You see, it lasts such a long time, unless you go in for divorce, and that always seems to me rather nasty, unless you’ve simply got to.”

Justin looked faintly amused and said,

“It can be overdone.”

Dorinda pursued the theme.

“Suppose I married Tip. He’s twenty-four, and I’m twenty-one. It might go on for about fifty or sixty years. It’s a frightfully long time. Of course he’s got plenty of money. He’s in his uncle’s office and he’ll be a partner in a year or two, and it would be rather nice to have one’s own flat and a car, but I’ve got a feeling I’d get tired of being married to Tip-” She broke off to help herself to sole meunière.

“Then I shouldn’t do it.”

Dorinda said, “Oh, I’m not going to-at least I don’t suppose I shall, unless the Oakleys really do turn out to be pure poison like the red-headed girl said. Do you know, she looked nice. I wouldn’t have minded knowing her.”

“It isn’t the slightest good trailing red-headed herrings across the path. The point is not what you either think or don’t think about getting married, but what these wretched lads think you are thinking. Have you, or have you not, given either or both of them to suppose that you will marry him?”

Dorinda beamed.

“Justin, darling, this is the most lovely fish I’ve ever tasted. I’m so glad I didn’t have any lunch.”

He looked at her severely.

“Neither red herrings nor soles, Dorinda. Have you, or have you not?”

“Do you think I could have some more?”

“You can if you like, but you’d better see what’s coming.”