“You?” I repeated.

“Yes.  He thinks that sooner or later, when you want help, you will probably write and tell me where you are.”

“And then you are to pass the good news on to him?”

She nodded.  “He says that if I let him know at once, he will arrange to get you safely out of the country.”

I lay back in the chair and laughed out loud.

Joyce, who was still sitting on the arm, looked down happily into my face.  “Oh,” she said, “I love to hear you laugh again.”  Then, slipping her hand into mine, she went on:  “I suppose he means to arrange it so that it will look as if you had been caught by accident while he was trying to help you.”

“I expect so,” I said.  “I should be out of the way again then, and you would be so overcome by gratitude—­Oh, yes, there’s quite a Georgian touch about it.”

The sharp tinkle of an electric bell broke in on our conversation.  Joyce jumped up from the chair, and for a moment both remained listening while “Jack” answered the door.

“I know who it is,” whispered Joyce.  “It’s old Lady Mortimer.  She had an appointment for one o’clock.”

“But what have you arranged to do?” I asked.  “There’s no reason you should put all your people off.  I can go away for the time, or stop in another room, or something.”

“No, no; it’s all right,” whispered Joyce.  “I’ll tell you in a minute.”

She waited until we heard the front door shut, and then coming back to me sat down again on my knee.

“I told Jack,” she said, “not to let any one into the flat till three o’clock.  I have an appointment then I ought to keep, but that still gives us nearly two hours.  I will send Jack across to Stewart’s to fetch us some lunch, and we’ll have it in here.  What would you like, my Neil?”

“Anything but eggs and bacon,” I said, getting out another cigarette.

She jumped up with a laugh, and, after striking me a match, went out into the passage, leaving the door open.  I heard her call the page-boy and give him some instructions, and then she came back into the room, her eyes dancing with happiness and excitement.

“Isn’t this splendid!” she exclaimed.  “Only this morning I was utterly miserable wondering if you were dead, and here we are having lunch together just like the old days in Chelsea.”

“Except for your hair, Joyce,” I said.  “Don’t you remember how it was always getting in your eyes?”

“Oh, that!” she cried; “that’s easily altered.”

She put up her hands, and hastily pulled out two or three hairpins.  Then she shook her head, and in a moment a bronze mane was rippling down over her shoulders exactly as it used to in the old days.

“I wish I could do something like that,” I said ruefully.  “I’m afraid my changes are more permanent.”

Joyce came up and thrust her arm into mine.  “My poor dear,” she said, pressing it to her.  “Never mind; you look splendid as you are.”