Joan flamed into life.  She clasped her hands together.

“Oh, will you?” The question was half wonder, half prayer.

No man could have shown a more charming condescension than did Mr. Albany Todd at this moment.

“Indeed, I will.  I read one book a year—­never more.  A few sentences in bed in the morning, and a few sentences in bed at night.  Yours shall be my book for 1923.”  He took a little notebook and a pencil from his pocket.  “Now what title will it have?”

“‘A Woman’s Heart, and Who Broke It,’” replied Joan, blushing from her temples to her throat.

Miranda repeated the title in an ecstasy of admiration, and asked the world at large:  “Isn’t it all wonderful?”

“‘And Who Broke It,’” quoted Mr. Albany Todd as he wrote the title down.  He put his pocket-book away.

“The volume I am reading now——­”

“Yes?” said Joan eagerly.  With what master was she to find herself in company?  She was not to know.

“——­was given to me exquisitely bound by a very dear friend of mine, now alas! in precarious health!—­the Marquis of Bridlington,” said Mr. Albany Todd—­an audible groan from Harold Jupp; an imploring glance from Millie Splay, and to her immense relief the butler ushered in Harry Luttrell.  He was welcomed by Millie Splay, presented to Sir Chichester, and surrounded by his friends.  He was a trifle leaner than of old, and there were lines now where before there had been none.  His eyes, too, had the queer, worn and sunken look which was becoming familiar in the eyes of the young men on leave.  Joan Whitworth watched him as he entered, carelessly—­for perhaps a second.  Then her book dropped from her hand upon the carpet—­that book which she had so jealously read a few minutes back.  Now it lay where it had fallen.  She leaned forward, as though above all she wished to hear the sound of his voice.  And when she heard it, she drew in a little breath.  He was speaking and laughing with Sir Chichester, and the theme was nothing more important than Sir Chichester’s Honorary Membership of the Senga Mess.

“Lucky fellow!” cried Sir Chichester.  “No trouble for you to get into the papers, eh!  Publicity waits on you like a valet.”

“But that’s just the kind of valet I can’t afford in my profession,” said Harry.

The conversation was all trivial and customary.  But Joan Whitworth leaned forward with a light upon her face that had never yet burnt there.  Colonel Luttrell was presented to Mr. Albany Todd, who was most kind and condescending.  Joan looked suddenly down at her bilious frock, and the horror of her sandals was something she could hardly bear.  They would turn to her next.  Yes, they would turn to her!  She looked desperately towards the great staircase with its broad, shallow steps which ran up round two sides of the hall.  Millie Splay was actually beginning to turn to her, when Dennis Brown came unconsciously to her rescue.