'No, it didn't go down awfully well. He said that he didn't know what things were coming to and that even in the slums such things were not spoken about by children of my age. What a lot he ate! I did my best to make him feel at home, too, by talking about trains.

'I thought he was a very sensible old man, said Professor Silenus. 'He was the only person who didn't think it necessary to say something polite about the house. Besides, he told me about a new method of concrete construction they're trying at one of the Govermnent Superannuation Homes.

Peter and Paul went back to their cylindrical study and began another spelling‑lesson.

As the last of the guests departed Mrs Beste‑Chetwynde reappeared from her little bout of veronal, fresh and exquisite as a seventeenth‑century lyric. The meadow of green glass seemed to burst into flower under her feet as she passed from the lift to the cocktail table.

'You poor angels! she said. 'Did you have the hell of a time with Maltravers? And all those people? I quite forget who asked to come this week‑end. I gave up inviting people long ago, she said, turning to Paul, 'but it didn't make a bit of difference. She gazed into the opalescent depths of her absinthe frappé. 'More and more I feel the need of a husband, but Peter is horribly fastidious.

'Well, your men are all so awfill, said Peter.

'I sometimes think of marrying old Maltravers, said Mrs Beste‑Chetwynde, 'just to get my own back, only "Margot Maltravers" does sound a little too much, don't you think? And if they give him a peerage, he's bound to choose something quite awful….

In the whole of Paul's life no one had ever been quite so sweet to him as Margot Beste‑Chetwynde was during the next few days. Up and down the shining lift shafts, in and out of the rooms, and along the labyrinthine corridors of the great house he moved in a golden mist. Each morning as he dressed a bird seemed to be singing in his heart, and as he lay down to sleep he would pillow his head against a hand about which still hung a delicate fragrance of Margot Beste‑Chetwynde's almost unprocurable scent.

'Paul, dear, she said one day as hand in hand, after a rather fearful encounter with a swan, they reached the shelter of the lake house, 'I can't bear to think of you going back to that awful school. Do, please, write and tell Dr Fagan that you won't.

The lake house was an eighteenth‑century pavilion, built on a little mound above the water. They stood there for a full minute still hand in hand on the crumbling steps.

'I don't quite see what else I could do, said Paul.

'Darling, I could find you a job.

'What sort of job, Margot? Paul's eyes followed the swan gliding serenely across the lake; he did not dare to look at her.

'Well, Paul, you might stay and protect me from swans, mightn't you? Margot paused and then, releasing her hand, took a cigarette case from her pocket. Paul struck a match. 'My dear, what an unsteady hand! I'm afraid you're drinking too many of Peter's cocktails. That child has a lot to learn yet about the use of vodka. But seriously I'm sure I can find you a better job. It's absurd your going back to Wales. I still manage a great deal of my father's business, you know, or perhaps you didn't. It was mostly in South America in ‑ in places of entertainment, cabarets and hotels and theatres, you know, and things like that. I'm sure I could find you a job helping in that, if you think you'd like it.

Paul thought of this gravely. 'Oughtn't I to know Spanish? he said. It seemed quite a sensible question, but Margot threw away her cigarette with a little laugh and said: 'It's time to go and change. You are being difficult this evening, aren't you?

Paul thought about this conversation as he lay in his bath ‑ a sunk bath of malachite ‑ and all the time while he dressed and as he tied his tie he trembled from head to foot like one of the wire toys which street vendors dangle from trays.

At dinner Margot talked about matters of daily interest, about some jewels she was having reset, and how they had come back all wrong; and how all the wiring of her London house was being overhauled because of the fear of fire; and how the man she had left in charge of her villa at Cannes had made a fortune at the Casino and given her notice, and she was afraid she might have to go out there to arrange about it; and how the Society for the Preservation of Ancient Buildings was demanding a guarantee that she would not demolish her castle in Ireland; and how her cook seemed to be going off his head that night, the dinner was so dull; and how Bobby Pastmaster was trying to borrow money from her again, on the grounds that she had misled him when she bought his house and that if he had known she was going to pull it down he would have made her pay more. 'Which is not logical of Bobby, she said. 'The less I valued this house, the less I ought to have paid, surely? Still, I'd better send him something, otherwise he'll go and marry, and I think it may be nice for Peter to have the title when he grows up.

Later, when they were alone, she said: 'People talk a great deal of nonsense about being rich. Of course it is a bore in some ways, and it means endless work, but I wouldn't be poor, or even moderately well‑off, for all the ease in the world. Would you be happy if you were rich, do you think?

'Well, it depends how I got the money, said PauL

'I don't see how that comes in.

'No, I don't quite mean that. What I mean is that I think there's only one thing that could make me really happy, and if I got that I should be rich too, but it wouldn't matter being rich, you see, because, however rich I was, and I hadn't got what would make me happy, I shouldn't be happy, you see.

'My precious, that's rather obscure, said Margot, 'but I think it may mean something rather sweet. He looked up at her, and her eyes met his unfalteringly. 'If it does, I'm glad, she added.

'Margot, darling, beloved, please, will you marry me? Paul was on his knees by her chair, his hands on hers.

'Well, that's rather what I've been wanting to discuss with you all day. But surely there was a tremor in her voice?

'Does that mean that possibly you might, Margot? Is there a chance that you will?

'I don't see why not. Of course we must ask Peter about it, and there are other things we ought to discuss first, and then, quite suddenly, 'Paul, dear, dear creature, come here.

They found Peter in the dining‑room eating a peach at the sideboard.

'Hullo, you two! he said.

'Peter, we've something to tell you, said Margot. 'Paul says he wants me to marry him.

'Splendid! said Peter. 'I am glad. Is that what you've been doing in the library?

'Then you don't mind? said Paul.

'Mind? It's what I've been trying to arrange all this week. As a matter of fact, that's why I brought you here at all. I think it's altogether admirable, he said, taking another peach.

'You're the first man he's said that about, Paul. I think it's rather a good omen.

'Oh, Margot, let's get married at once.

'My dear, I haven't said that I'm going to yet. I'll tell you in the morning.

'No, tell me now, Margot. You do like me a little, don't you? Please marry me just terribly soon.

'I'll tell you in the morning. There're several things I must think about first. Let's go back to the library.

That night Paul found it unusually diflicult to sleep. Long after he had shut his book and turned out the light he lay awake, his eyes open, his thoughts racing uncontrollably. As in the first night of his visit, he felt the sleepless, involved genius of the house heavy about his head. He and Margot and Peter and Sir Humphrey Maltravers were just insignificant incidents in the life of the house: this new‑born monster to whose birth ageless and forgotten cultures had been in travail. For half an hour he lay looking into the darkness until gradually his thoughts began to separate themselves from himself, and he knew he was falling asleep. Suddenly he was roused to consciousness by the sound of his door opening gently. He could see nothing, but he heard the rustle of silk as someone came into the room. Then the door shut again.