“I had kept all the dances after supper free.  If I am not in the way I would rather wait with you.”

“Of course.”

He was careful to use the most commonplace tone with the thought that it would steady her.  The trouble which this telephone message would finally dispel was clearly not all which distressed her.  She needed companionship; her voice broke, as though her heart were breaking too.  He saw her raise a wisp of handkerchief to her eyes; and then the telephone bell rang at his side.  He was calling at a venture upon the number which Commodore Graham had rung up in the office above the old waterway of the Thames.

“Is that Scotland Yard?” he asked, and he gave the address at which Mario Escobar was to be found.  “But he may be gone to-morrow,” he added, and hearing a short “That’s all right,” he rang off.

“Now, if you will get your cloak, we might go back into the garden.”

They found their corner of the terrace unoccupied and sat for a while in silence.  Hillyard recognised that neither questions nor any conversation at all were required from him, but simply the sympathy of his companionship.  He smoked a cigarette while Joan sat by his side.

She stretched out her hand towards the Bishop’s Ring, small as a button upon the great shoulder of the Down.

“Do you remember the afternoon when I drove you back from Goodwood?”

“Yes.”

“You said to me, ’If the great trial is coming, I want to fall back into the rank and file.’  And I cried out, ‘Oh, I understand that!’”

“I remember.”

“What a fool I was!” said Joan.  “I didn’t understand at all.  I thought that it sounded fine, and that was why I applauded.  I am only beginning to understand now.  Even after I had agreed with you, my one ambition was to be different.”

Her voice died remorsefully away.  From the window further down the terrace the yellow light poured from the windows and fought with the moonlight.  The music of a waltz floated out upon the yearning of many violins.  There was a ripple of distant voices.

“All this week,” Joan began again, “I have found myself standing unexpectedly in a strong light before a mirror and utterly scared by the revelation of what I was ... by the memory of the foolish things which I had done.  From one of the worst of them, you have saved me to-night.  You are very kind to me, Martin.”

It was the first time he had ever heard her use his Christian name.

“I should like to be kinder, if you’ll let me,” he said.  “I am not blind.  I was in the supper-room when you and Harry were there.  It was for him that you had kept all the last dances free.  And you are here, breaking your heart.  Why?”

Joan shook her head.  A little sob broke from her against her will.  But this matter was between her and Harry Luttrell.  She sought no counsel from any other.

“Then I am very grieved for both of you,” said Hillyard.  Joan made a movement as if she were about to rise.  “Will you wait just a moment?” Martin asked.