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"No, I tell you. No."

"It isn't Tom Seddon, is it?"

"Tom Seddon?" Rosalind laughed. "Heavens, no! It will be a long time before Tom keeps me awake!"

"He's most tremendously in love with you."

"Is he?"

"You know he is. Put him out of his misery, Rosalind, if you don't care for him. It isn't fair to leave him in doubt."

"Darling, you talk just like a Victorian novel. And here we are. Now for the fun!"

Wildherne, standing behind his mother at the top of the staircase, had a new impression of Janet. He was always just now receiving new impressions of her. It was as though someone were forcing him to realise that this affair of marriage was more complicated and subtle than he had as yet acknowledged to himself.

How many Janets was he marrying, and how many Wildhernes would marry her?

The crowd pressing up the staircase was very great. Janet, taller than most of the women, seemed, with her carriage and simple clothes, to be set apart from them. She looked proud, aloof, almost inhuman. He did not know that even now she was still thinking of Rosalind.