Once, when their pathway led through a littered farm-yard, he had taken her up in his arms and carried her and she had felt a glad pride in him that he had borne her lightly as if she had been a child, looking up at her and laughing.

An old bent man paused from his work and watched them.  “Lean more over him, missie,” he advised her.  “That’s the way.  Many a mile I’ve carried my lass like that, in flood time; and never felt her weight.”

Often on returning home, not knowing why, she would look into the glass.  It seemed to her that the girlhood she had somehow missed was awakening in her, taking possession of her, changing her.  The lips she had always seen pressed close and firm were growing curved, leaving a little parting, as though they were not quite so satisfied with one another.  The level brows were becoming slightly raised.  It gave her a questioning look that was new to her.  The eyes beneath were less confident.  They seemed to be seeking something.

One evening, on her way home from a theatre, she met Flossie.  “Can’t stop now,” said Flossie, who was hurrying.  “But I want to see you:  most particular.  Was going to look you up.  Will you be at home to-morrow afternoon at tea-time?”

There was a distinct challenge in Flossie’s eye as she asked the question.  Joan felt herself flush, and thought a moment.

“Yes,” she answered.  “Will you be coming alone?”

“That’s the idea,” answered Flossie; “a heart to heart talk between you and me, and nobody else.  Half-past four.  Don’t forget.”

Joan walked on slowly.  She had the worried feeling with which, once or twice, when a schoolgirl, she had crawled up the stairs to bed after the head mistress had informed her that she would see her in her private room at eleven o’clock the next morning, leaving her to guess what about.  It occurred to her, in Trafalgar Square, that she had promised to take tea with the Greysons the next afternoon, to meet some big pot from America.  She would have to get out of that.  She felt it wouldn’t do to put off Flossie.

She went to bed wakeful.  It was marvellously like being at school again.  What could Flossie want to see her about that was so important?  She tried to pretend to herself that she didn’t know.  After all, perhaps it wasn’t that.

But she knew that it was the instant Flossie put up her hands in order to take off her hat.  Flossie always took off her hat when she meant to be unpleasant.  It was her way of pulling up her sleeves.  They had their tea first.  They seemed both agreed that that would be best.  And then Flossie pushed back her chair and sat up.

She had just the head mistress expression.  Joan wasn’t quite sure she oughtn’t to stand.  But, controlling the instinct, leant back in her chair, and tried to look defiant without feeling it.

“How far are you going?” demanded Flossie.