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What he had asked himself again and again was why, since she
was so perfectly desirable in every way, he had never fallen in love
with her? Until this evening he had always told himself that it would
come right in the end, that he was in his own phrase simply "playing for
time." Margaret was handsomer, if less piquant, than Patty Vetch. She
possessed every quality he had found lacking in poor Patty; yet he
admitted ruefully that he felt the vague sense of disappointment which
follows when one is offered a dish of one's choice and finds that the
expected flavour is missing.
There was a peremptory knock at his door, and his mother looked in
reproachfully. "You must hurry, Stephen, or everything will be burned to
a cinder."
"I am sorry," he replied with compunction, "I didn't realize that I was
late."
Her expression was stern but kind. "If you could only learn to be
punctual, dear. Of course while we felt that you were not quite
yourself, we tried not to worry about it.


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