Mr.Denham had come in as Mr.Fortescue, the eminent novelist, reached the middle of a very long sentence.

He kept this suspended while the newcomer sat down, and Mrs.Hilbery deftly joined the severed parts by leaning towards him and remarking: "Now, what would you do if you were married to an engineer, and had to live in Manchester, Mr.Denham ?" "Surely she could learn Persian," broke in a thin, elderly gentleman.
"Is there no retired schoolmaster or man of letters in Manchester with whom she could read Persian ?" "A cousin of ours has married and gone to live in Manchester," Katharine explained.

Mr.Denham muttered something, which was indeed all that was required of him, and the novelist went on where he had left off.
Privately, Mr.Denham cursed himself very sharply for having exchanged the freedom of the street for this sophisticated drawing-room, where, among other disagreeables, he certainly would not appear at his best.

He glanced round him, and saw that, save for Katharine, they were all over forty, the only consolation being that Mr.Fortescue was a considerable celebrity, so that to-morrow one might be glad to have met him.
"Have you ever been to Manchester ?" he asked Katharine.
"Never," she replied.
"Why do you object to it, then ?" Katharine stirred her tea, and seemed to speculate, so Denham thought, upon the duty of filling somebody else's cup, but she was really wondering how she was going to keep this strange young man in harmony with the rest.

She observed that he was compressing his teacup, so that there was danger lest the thin china might cave inwards.