“For goodness sake go to it, Peggy!” he laughed.  “If you don’t you’ll explode!”

The next moment Peggy and Joanne were in each other’s arms, and the two men were shaking hands.

“We know just how you feel,” Blackton tried to explain.  “We felt just like you do, only we had to face twenty people instead of two.  And you’re not hungry.  I’ll wager that.  I’ll bet you don’t feel like swallowing a mouthful.  It had that peculiar effect on us, didn’t it, Peggy?”

“And I—­I almost choked myself,” gurgled Peggy as they took their places at the table.  “There really did seem to be something thick in my throat, Joanne, dear.  I coughed and coughed and coughed before all those people until I wanted to die right there!  And I’m wondering——­”

“If I’m going to choke, too?” smiled Joanne.  “Indeed not, Peggy.  I’m as hungry as a bear!”

And now she did look glorious and self-possessed to Aldous as she sat opposite him at that small round table, which was just fitted for four.  He told her so when the meal was finished, and they were following the Blacktons into the front room.  Blackton had evidently been carefully drilled along the line of a certain scheme which Peggy had formed, for in spite of a negative nod from her, which signified that he was to wait a while, he pulled out his watch, and said: 

“It isn’t at all surprising if you people have forgotten that to-morrow is Sunday.  Peggy and I always do some Saturday-night shopping, and if you don’t mind, we’ll leave you to care for the house while we go to town.  We won’t be gone more than an hour.”

A few minutes later, when the door had closed behind them, Aldous led Joanne to a divan, and sat down beside her.

“I couldn’t have arranged it better myself, dear,” he exclaimed.  “I have been wondering how I could have you alone for a few minutes, and tell you what is on my mind before I see MacDonald again to-night.  I’m afraid you will be displeased with me, Joanne.  I hardly know how to begin.  But—­I’ve got to.”

A moment’s uneasiness came into her eyes as she saw how seriously he was speaking.

“You don’t mean, John—­there’s more about Quade—­and Culver Rann?”

“No, no—­nothing like that,” he laughed, as though amused at the absurdity of her question.  “Old Donald tells me they have skipped the country, Joanne.  It’s not that.  It’s you I’m thinking of, and what you may think of me a minute from now.  Joanne, I’ve given my word to old Donald.  He has lived in my promise.  I’ve got to keep that promise—­I must go into the North with him.”

She had drawn one of his hands into her lap and was fondling it with her own soft palm and fingers.

“Of course, you must, John.  I love old Donald.”

“And I must go—­soon,” he added.

“It is only fair to him that you should,” she agreed.

“He—­he is determined we shall go in the morning,” he finished, keeping his eyes from her.