His One Woman. Paula Marshall

for idle conversation.’

      Marietta was overcome by surprise to find that she was flirting with an attractive man whom she had only just met.

      ‘Do call me Jack,’ he said through his muffin, which exploded ungracefully, splashing him with melted butter. ‘Sophie does.’

      ‘Most incorrect of her,’ said Marietta severely, ‘since I deduce that you have not been formally introduced.’

      ‘For that matter, neither have we,’ said Jack, elegantly retrieving the remains of the muffin and depositing them on his plate.

      ‘No more we have,’ returned Marietta, who was beginning to enjoy herself. ‘So licence reigns supreme.’ She further added, after watching him struggle, ‘As your way with muffins would seem to suggest.’

      ‘They call them English,’ said Jack, cleaning his sticky fingers on his expensive lawn handkerchief rather than on the Hopes’ equally expensive damask napkin, ‘but I have not seen an English muffin like this one. Ours do not explode.’

      ‘Oh, you have mannerly muffins, like the English themselves, I suppose. But a bit weighty, perhaps?’

      ‘I own that I was wrong,’ said Jack, accepting a sandwich and warily inspecting it before taking a bite, lest that, too, should cascade about him. ‘You are even more adept at light raillery than Sophie, but you do have the advantage of the muffins. Ballrooms and receptions have fewer diversions; conversation there must be sustained without such useful props.’

      ‘Try the pound cake,’ suggested Marietta, waving the plate at him, her face alight with an amusement she had not felt for years. ‘Or do you call pound cake something exotic in…New South Wales, is it not?’

      ‘Bravo!’ exclaimed Jack as he took a piece. ‘You are the first bona fide US citizen I have met who knows where Sydney is situated. No, unless our aborigines bake this delicacy, I have not met it before. It is well named, a most filling concoction. You may help me to another slice.’

      ‘And your cup needs refilling,’ said Marietta, putting out a hand for it.

      Jack watched her concentrate on pouring out the tea—aware of his gaze on her and that she was a little entertained by him.

      ‘Since you will not engage in froth and fun with me, Jack—you see, I take you at your word—we may be serious. Pray, what is the business which brings you to Washington? That is, if you wish to inform me.’

      He stirred his tea vigorously. ‘No reason why not, Miss Hope—’

      ‘Oh, Marietta, please,’ she said softly.

      ‘Marietta,’ he continued, ‘but ladies are not usually interested in my speciality. I will not say that it is dry, since it concerns the sea, but one might call it heavy. I ran the shipping side of our family firm until recently. Now my situation has changed and I may pursue my engineering bent. Among other things I am interested in such remote matters as the design of metal warships or iron-clads—hardly tea-party entertainment, I fear—but the States is the place to be these days for matters of invention.’

      ‘Indeed,’ she said, her eyes mocking him a little. ‘And screw-propelled ships, too. You are interested in those as well as iron-clads, I presume? I can see that Mr Ericsson is your man.’

      Jack put down his delicate cup with exaggerated care. ‘Lest it, too, explode,’ he offered when he saw her smile. ‘Well, now, Marietta, you do surprise me. Most gentlemen around here do not know of such arcane matters, let alone pretty ladies at tea.’

      ‘Pray do not flatter me, Jack. A gentleman of such profound knowledge about design will know how lacking I am in it, even in a different line,’ she flashed back at him, for daring to describe her as pretty. ‘But there is a simple explanation for my surprising expertise. I am my father’s secretary and he is on a Congressional committee which deals with shipping of all kinds. What shall we discuss, sir? I am ready for you. Explosive shells, not muffins, and their effect on wooden ships?’

      Jack’s laughter was unforced. ‘If you like,’ he said. ‘I warn you, once you start me going, you will not be able to stop me. On these matters I am a very bore.’

      ‘Oh, I doubt that, Jack. I doubt it very much. I am sure that Sophie does not think you are a bore.’

      ‘Oh, but I do not discuss iron-clads, and their future peaceful use, with Sophie,’ he said, waving away further proffered cake. ‘I see that you are determined to sink me, Marietta, with your broadsides.’

      ‘Difficult to achieve, I think,’ said Marietta, who had not enjoyed herself so much for years. He undoubtedly knew how attractive he was, but he displayed little conceit. He had a wicked look now and then, and she was subtly flattered that he was favouring her with it. He reminded her, while he talked with great enthusiasm of his passion, of a small boy, excited among his toys.

      Marietta was surprised to find herself disappointed when he suddenly looked at the clock, and said, ‘I am remiss, Marietta, I have talked the afternoon away. I must not strain your patience.’

      ‘No, indeed,’ she told him. ‘You could not do that, Jack. You must come again for tea, and soon. I promise to serve you no exploding muffins next time.’

      He rose. ‘Perhaps we shall meet this evening. Sophie said that you would be attending the White House reception. I am working with Ezra Butler, and he is taking me with him.’

      ‘I shall look forward to that,’ she replied, meaning her words for once, and they parted with more warmth than either could earlier have deemed possible.

      An intelligent and amusing man, was Marietta’s verdict, while Jack thought that Marietta might not be conventionally pretty, but she had a good mind and an engaging manner. Nothing like Sophie, of course, whom he had been sorry to miss, but he had spent a pleasant hour all the same. Miss Hope was not quite the dragon of report.

      Not long after he had gone, Sophie came rushing into the room, her pretty face aglow. ‘Oh, Marietta, was that Jack Dilhorne I saw leaving as we came home?’

      On Marietta nodding assent, she gave a great pout. ‘Oh, how annoying. I knew that it was a mistake to go duty calling with Aunt Percival. And now I have missed him. Did he stay long?’

      ‘We had tea together,’ said Marietta quietly.

      ‘Oh, even more annoying,’ exclaimed Sophie disgustedly. ‘Jack is such fun. What on earth did you find to talk about with him?’

      ‘Explosives and marine engineering,’ said Marietta repressively.

      ‘Explosives and marine engineering! How exquisitely dull for the poor man. I might have guessed that you would bore him stiff.’

      ‘I don’t think that Jack…Mr Dilhorne, that is…found explosives boring,’ said Marietta, remembering the muffins. ‘On the contrary.’

      ‘Oh, he has splendid manners for a backwoods-man,’ said Sophie. ‘It’s only his clothes which are a little odd, but I don’t suppose that you noticed that. All the girls are wild for him,’ she added, and then said proudly, ‘but I am the one that he is interested in.’

      ‘Apart from his passion for marine architecture, that is,’ said Marietta unkindly. She had had enough of Sophie’s open patronage of her lack of attractions.

      ‘Oh, Marietta, you have no sense of humour at all,’ said Sophie, dismissively, ‘you are so solemn. Now Jack has the most enormous sense of the ridiculous.’

      ‘Then he should get along with me, should he not?’ said Marietta savagely. ‘Seeing that you all consider me to be the most ridiculous thing in Washington.’

      She swept out of the room, leaving Sophie behind with her mouth open, since Marietta rarely bit back, however much she was provoked. It was one of her collection of amazing and boring virtues.

      Goodness me, she thought, whatever had caused that? Well, she would tease Jack about his