These were nearly the last words that Ella spoke to Horace that
afternoon. The introduction was made, and Sidney slipped into the
party as comfortably as he slipped into everything, like a candle
slipping into a socket. But nevertheless Ella talked no more. She
just stared at Sidney, and listened to him. Horace was proud that
Sidney had made such an impression on her; he was glad that she
showed no aversion to Sidney, because, in the event of Horace's
marriage, where would Sidney live, if not with Horace and Horace's
wife? Still, he could have wished that Ella would continue to
display her conversational powers.

Presently, Sidney lighted a cigarette. He was of those young men
whose delicate mouths seem to have been fashioned for the nice
conduct of a cigarette. And he had a way of blowing out the smoke
that secretly ravished every feminine beholder. Horace still held
to his boyhood's principles; but he envied Sidney a little.

At the conclusion of the festivity these two women naturally could
not be permitted to walk home alone. And, naturally, also, the
four could not walk abreast on the narrow pavements. Horace went
first with Mrs Penkethman. He was mad with anxiety to appropriate
Ella, but he dared not. It would not have been quite correct; it
would have been, as they say in Bursley, too thick. Besides, there
was the question of age. Horace was over thirty, and Mrs
Penkethman was also--over thirty; whereas Sidney was twenty-one,
and so was Ella. Hence Sidney walked behind with Ella, and the
procession started in silence. Horace did not look round too
often--that would not have been quite proper--but whenever he did
look round the other couple had lagged farther and farther behind,