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lighting all modern, daring, and bright. The room was cleared now ready for dancing. A trio occupied an alcove, and a twostep was in progress. James stood at the doorway and waited for the music to stop. Daphne’s idea of a few bright spirits amused him. The floor was packed. He caught a glimpse of her and lost it again. She was looking insufferably pretty. He did not see anyone else he knew, and he thought that he had been a fool to come. He had probably still got oil on his hands. You soaped them and you scrubbed them, and they looked all right, and then next time you looked at them the oil seemed to have worked out again. He didn’t mind dances when he knew the people, but he wasn’t going to know a solitary soul in this crowd.
    The dance ended, and Daphne emerged. She slipped her arm through his, addressed him as “Angel,” and began to edge him along to the end of the room.
    â€œI’ve got a partner for you. You can thank me afterwards—I hope she will. You usen’t to tread on people’s toes, but that was when I was taking a lot of trouble over you. Hi, Rabbit, let us through! Just one more good shove, James. That’s done it! I told her to stay just here, so if she’s gone—”
    They came into a sort of backwater beside the fireplace. There was actually a bare square yard of space. A sheet of glass ran from ceiling to floor, moulded curiously into fantastic pillars on either side and arched above a flickering electric fire. The pillars followed and distorted the human form, but the distortion had a rhythm of its own. Against the nearer pillar a girl stood waiting for them, and the first thing that James noticed about her was that she had green eyes. And that was nonsense, because people didn’t have green eyes.
    â€œHere he is, Sally,” said Daphne in her high sweet voice—“James Elliot. He sells cars. I can’t swear he won’t step on your feet.” And with that she was gone.
    James had another look at the eyes. Of course they weren’t really green. They just looked green because she had on a green dress. They had very soft black lashes, as black as soot. But her hair wasn’t quite black, though it was very dark. It was done up in rows of little curls across the back of her head. Frightful waste of time doing up those curls every day—he supposed they had to be done every day. He remembered his cousin Kitty having her hair brushed round and round her nurse’s finger to make it curl.
    The green eyes were lifted to his, and a very soft voice said,
    â€œHave I got a smut on my nose?”
    James blushed a little. It didn’t really show, but he could feel himself doing it.
    â€œI’m afraid I was staring.”
    She nodded.
    â€œYou’re quite sure I haven’t got a smut?”
    â€œOh, yes, quite.”
    She looked modestly down. Her lashes were really very black indeed. James wondered whether the colour was natural, or whether she put stuff on them. They looked natural, but then so did Kitty’s, and Kitty’s eyelashes had been as near as a toucher white till she came out, so you could never be sure.
    He said rather suddenly, “They’re just going to start again. Would you like to dance?” And she said, “No, I don’t think so.”
    â€œI don’t really step on people’s feet.”
    She said without looking up,
    â€œI love dancing, but I’ve hurt my foot. Do you think we could find somewhere to sit?”
    This appeared to be a rhetorical question, because she was able immediately to lead the way to two very comfortable chairs on a half-way landing. She sat down, heaved a sigh of relief, and enquired,
    â€œWhy did you stare at me like that? Did you think you’d seen me before?”
    James shook his head.
    â€œI’m quite sure I haven’t.” And then in the most disturbing way his certainty wavered. “At