'Don't worry about that,' Dixon said. 'You must do as you think best.'

'Whatever I do can't be very satisfactory,' she said. 'I feel I've been very stupid the whole way through.' Though her pose was now complete, Dixon barely noticed it. 'What I want to stop you thinking is that I was being frivolous about, you know, letting you kiss me and saying I'd come today, and all that. And I meant everything I said; I wouldn't have said it otherwise. And I don't want you to think that I was doing it just for fun or that I've decided since I don't like you enough, or anything like that. It's not like that and you're not to think it is.'

'That's all right, Christine. You can forget about that part of it. Oh… here we are.'

The waiter reappeared at Dixon's side with a loaded tray. This he half-lowered, half-dropped to within an inch of the table; then, with an offensive exaggeration of care, he laid it soundlessly to rest. Straightening up, he gave another smile, this time at Dixon, paused, as if to emphasize his non-intention of setting out any of the tea-things, and moved off counterfeiting a heavy limp.

Christine began moving crockery about and pouring tea. When she gave him his cup she said: 'I'm sorry, Jim. I didn't want to be like this about it. Have a sandwich?'

'No thanks, I don't want anything to eat.'

She nodded and began eating with every appearance of appetite. Dixon was interested by this conventional absence of conventional sensitivity; for almost the first time in his life a woman was behaving in a way alleged to be typical of women. 'After all,' she said, 'you've got your commitments with Margaret, haven't you?'

He sighed rather tremulously; although the worst part of the encounter was theoretically over, without yet having had on him the numbing effect he knew it soon would have, he still felt nervous.' Yes,' he replied.' That was what I was going to tell you about this afternoon, only you got in first. I came here to tell you that I thought we shouldn't see any more of each other from my own point of view, because of my business with Margaret.'

'I see.' She began eating another sandwich.

'Things have all rather come to a head in the last few days, as a matter of fact. Since the Ball, really.'

She looked at him quickly. 'There was a row over that, was there?'

'Well, yes, I suppose you could say that. A good deal more than a row, actually.'

'There you are, you see. I was causing all sorts of trouble by sneaking off with you like that.'

'Don't be silly, Christine,' Dixon said irritably. 'You're talking as if you were the one who initiated everything. If anybody was responsible for all sorts of trouble, as you call it, it was me. Not that I think I'm much to blame for anything, any more than you were. It was all perfectly natural. All this self-reproach strikes me as a bit forced.'

'I'm sorry; I must have put it badly. I wasn't forcing anything as far as I knew.'

'No, I don't suppose you were for a moment. I didn't mean to sound hot under the collar. The Margaret business has been getting me down rather.'

'How bad was it? What did she say to you?'

'Oh, she said all sorts of things. There wasn't much she could have said she didn't say.'

'You make it sound pretty formidable. What actually went on?'

Dixon sighed again and drank some tea. 'It's all so… complicated. I don't want to bore you with it.'

'You won't bore me. I'd like to hear, if you feel you want to tell me. It's your turn, after all.'

The grin she gave with this remark nearly put Dixon right off his stroke. Was she really finding this funny? 'That's right,' he said heavily. 'Well, there's a lot of past history that's all mixed up with it, you see. She's a decent girl really, and I like her a lot, at least I would if she'd only let me. But I've got tied up with her without really meaning to, though I know that sounds ridiculous. When I first met her, last October some time, she was going round with a fellow called Catchpole…' He gave a compressed, but otherwise only slightly edited, account of his past relations with Margaret, finishing with their visit to the pictures the previous evening. He gave a cigarette to Christine, who'd eaten all the food the waiter had brought, took one himself, and said: 'So now it's all more or less on again, though I shouldn't like to have to explain just what it is that's more or less on again, and on's a bit vague too. I don't think she knows quite how interested I've been in you, by the way, and I don't imagine she'd thank me for telling her.'

Christine avoided his eyes, puffing amateurishly at her cigarette. She asked in a disinterested tone: 'How do you think she seemed when you left her?'

'Just the same as she'd been all the evening, quite quiet and apparently sensible. Oh, I know that sounds pretty offensive; I don't quite mean that, I mean she… well, she wasn't so excitable, there wasn't any of the nervous tension about her that there usually is.'

'Do you think she'll go on being like that, now that she feels things are more settled?'

'Well, I must admit I have been beginning to hope…' Now that the hope was voiced, it seemed ludicrously naive. 'Oh, I don't know. It doesn't make much difference anyway.'

'You sound pretty miserable about the whole business.'

'Do I? It hasn't been easy, certainly.'

'No, and it's not going to get any easier, is it?' When Dixon, irritated by this question, said nothing, she went on, tapping ash into a saucer: 'I don't suppose you want me to say this, but you must realize it yourself, I should think. I don't see how either of you can be very happy with the other one.'

Dixon tried to suppress his irritation. 'No, I don't suppose we can, but there's nothing to be done about it. It's just that we can't split up, that's all.'

'Well, what are you going to do, then? Are you going to get engaged to her or anything?'

It was the same curiosity as she'd shown some weeks ago about his drinking habits. 'I don't know,' he said coldly, trying not to think about getting engaged to Margaret. 'I suppose it's possible, if things carry on as they are for a time.'

She didn't seem to notice his unfriendly tone. Shifting in her seat, she glanced round the room, then said didactically: 'Well, it looks as if we're both taken care of, doesn't it? It's just as well.'

The authoritative vapidity of this reacted with Dixon's general feeling of peevish regret and made him begin to talk fast. 'Yes, there's not really much to choose between us when you look into it. You're keeping up your little affair with Bertrand because you think that on the whole it's safer to do that, in spite of the risks attached to that kind of thing, than to chance your arm with me. You know the snags about him, but you don't know what snags there might be about me. And I'm sticking to Margaret because I haven't got the guts to turn her loose and let her look after herself, so I do that instead of doing what I want to do, because I'm afraid to. It's just a sort of stodgy, stingy caution that's the matter with us; you can't even call it looking after number one.' He looked at her with faint contempt, and was hurt to see the same feeling in the way she looked at him. 'That's all there is to it; and the worst of it is I shall go on doing exactly what I was going to do in the first place. It just shows how little it helps you to know where you stand.' For some reason, this last remark brought into his mind the thought that a few words from him could dispose of Christine's attachment to Bertrand; he'd only to tell her what Carol had told him. But she probably knew, perhaps she was so devoted to Bertrand that she wouldn't break with him even over a thing like that, would rather have half of him than nothing at all. And, anyway, what would she think of him if he came out with it at this point? No, he might as well forget about that. It seemed there'd never be a valid opportunity to make that disclosure to anyone, which was cruelly unfair, considering how loyally he'd kept his mouth shut and how long he'd waited for the right moment.