Val looked round the corner of his lashes.

Perhaps she was young, after all.
Her foot trod on his; she begged his pardon.

He said: "Not at all; jolly good ballet, isn't it ?" "Oh, I'm tired of it; aren't you ?" Young Val smiled--his wide, rather charming smile.

Beyond that he did not go--not yet convinced.

The Forsyte in him stood out for greater certainty.