ness. To what end? To be told by Helen how to point his toes? Better have left him with his books. He was too good for that sort of thing.
If Chip wanted her, she would marry him. She liked everything about him—even his oddly cut evening clothes, that reminded her of Du Maurier's drawings. She caught his eyes just then, and there was a rather pleading look in them. He evidently wasn't enjoying his lesson. Well, the gramophone would run down in a minute, and then they could all stop. She hadn't spoken a word to Captain Stevens, who, fortunately, thought she was so thrilled by the perfection of his dancing that she didn't want to spoil a perfect moment by speaking.
She tried to picture herself married to Chip. It would mean managing on nothing a year in that tiny flat, or one like it. To-night she was sure she wouldn't mind. It would take them months—years perhaps, to know each other well. It would be such fun finding out. And being modern and willing to face facts, she tried to picture herself wheeling a perambulator about Campden Hill on the nurse's day out. By that time Chip would have had a great success with his book on religions or some other book, and they would have a house. Yes, poverty and all, if Chip
