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predicament.’
    ‘I can’t dance,’ Stephen said, shaking his head.
    ‘Are you afraid of her, Stephen?’ Billy asked earnestly.
    ‘Me? No, of course not.’
    ‘Then what the bloody hell are you waiting for?’
    ‘I don’t think she likes me.’
    ‘Oh, don’t be such an ass. Of course she likes you. She’s been making eyes at you for half the evening.’
    ‘No she hasn’t.’ Stephen felt his cheeks beginning to redden, ‘She’s probably looking for her sister.’
    ‘Oh, balls, Stephen,’ Billy laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You’re a terrible liar. You are afraid of her, aren’t you? Go on, admit it.’
    This was more than he could bear, and Stephen set his glass down and straightened his tie. ‘All right,’ he muttered, ‘I’ll ask her to dance.’ His mouth was dry but his mind was set. How hard could it be? Just go up to her, smile, say good evening, and take it from there. It couldn’t be easier.
    ‘Not that I’d blame you if you were. Those votes-for-women gals can be a bit fierce. Did you know her mother was arrested for breaking the windows of one of the Devereux newspapers? Apparently, they printed an editorial that more or less said women should stick to needlepoint and having babies, so Mrs B dashed off a stinker of a letter to the editor. They refused to print it, so she took the train down to Wicklow and marched around to demand an explanation. The editor wouldn’t even give her the time of day, never mind print her letter, so she went back outside, wrapped the letter around a brick and heaved it through the window. Hell hath no fury, and so forth. But Bryce filia has a bit more charm, don’t you think? I see her as a Spartan woman: fierce, warlike, but loyal . . .’
    ‘Shut up, Billy.’
    ‘That’s not to say she won’t bite, however.’
    ‘I said, I’m going to ask her.’
    But his timing couldn’t have been worse. The music died away once more, and the bandleader announced a short break. In moments, the buffet table was crowded with hungry dancers. A solid wedge of young men came in at a rush, and he recognized a coterie of Devereux’s friends from the rugby team. Devereux himself was in the lead, rubbing his hands and grinning wolfishly.
    ‘Come on, boys, we’ll be at war soon, and then it’ll be bully beef and cold tea. Let’s make hay while the sun shines!’
    He snatched up an éclair and devoured it in one bite, smearing his lips with crumbs and cream and chomping it down with his eyes bulging. Following his lead, his friends set upon the food like wild dogs.
    ‘Bloody hell,’ Billy muttered, watching them with some distaste. ‘It’s like a Roman orgy.’
    Then they heard Devereux exclaim in a loud, drunken voice:
    ‘Good God. It’s the Bryce girl. I didn’t think they’d let her sort in.’
    ‘Votes for women!’ One of his gang called out, in a high falsetto, followed by a snort of laughter.
    Lillian looked away, ignoring him, but Devereux wasn’t to be put off. He swaggered up to her, laughing. ‘You’d better behave yourself tonight, Bryce. We’ll have none of your suffragette tricks here. This is a civilized occasion.’
    She didn’t answer, but only gave him a stony look as he closed in and started to circle her. He looked her up and down like a farmer might assay a head of beef, but she refused to play his game. She turned with him, watching him silently, warily.
    ‘Well, at least you’ve cleaned yourself up a bit. You know, you don’t look too bad when you make an effort. Still a bit mannish, if you ask me, but I suppose that’s the intention with you suffs, eh?’
    ‘I can’t watch this,’ whispered Stephen, ‘he’s making a show of her!’ He made to push his way through the throng that cut him off from the grubby scene, but Billy stopped him with a hand on his arm.
    ‘Steady on, old man,’ he murmured, nodding at the broad backs of the rugby team. ‘Don’t forget you’re in the lion’s den. Besides, I don’t