Joan had difficulty in deciding on her own frock. Her four evening
dresses, as she walked round them, spread out upon the bed, all looked
too imposing, for what Mrs. Phillips had warned her would be a "homely
affair." She had one other, a greyish-fawn, with sleeves to the elbow,
that she had had made expressly for public dinners and political At
Homes. But that would be going to the opposite extreme, and might seem
discourteous--to her hostess. Besides, "mousey" colours didn't really
suit her. They gave her a curious sense of being affected. In the end
she decided to risk a black crepe-de-chine, square cut, with a girdle of
gold embroidery. There couldn't be anything quieter than black, and the
gold embroidery was of the simplest. She would wear it without any
jewellery whatever: except just a star in her hair. The result, as she
viewed the effect in the long glass, quite satisfied her. Perhaps the
jewelled star did scintillate rather. It had belonged to her mother. But
her hair was so full of shadows: it wanted something to relieve it. Also
she approved the curved line of her bare arms. It was certainly very
beautiful, a woman's arm. She took her gloves in her hand and went down.

Mr. Phillips was not yet in the room. Mrs. Phillips, in apple-green with
an ostrich feather in her hair, greeted her effusively, and introduced
her to her fellow guests. Mr. Airlie was a slight, elegant gentleman of
uncertain age, with sandy hair and beard cut Vandyke fashion. He asked
Joan's permission to continue his cigarette.

"You have chosen the better part," he informed her, on her granting it.
"When I'm not smoking, I'm talking."

Mr. McKean shook her hand vigorously without looking at her.