“It isn’t only that,” explained Joan.  “I give him courage.  I always did have more of that than is any use to a woman.  He wants to be worthy of my belief in him.  What is the harm if he does admire me—­if a smile from me or a touch of the hand can urge him to fresh effort?  Suppose he does love me—­”

Flossie interrupted.  “How about being quite frank?” she suggested.  “Suppose we do love one another.  How about putting it that way?”

“And suppose we do?” agreed Joan, her courage rising.  “Why should we shun one another, as if we were both of us incapable of decency or self-control?  Why must love be always assumed to make us weak and contemptible, as if it were some subtle poison?  Why shouldn’t it strengthen and ennoble us?”

“Why did the apple fall?” answered Flossie.  “Why, when it escapes from its bonds, doesn’t it soar upward?  If it wasn’t for the irritating law of gravity, we could skip about on the brink of precipices without danger.  Things being what they are, sensible people keep as far away from the edge as possible.”

“I’m sorry,” she continued; “awfully sorry, old girl.  It’s a bit of rotten bad luck for both of you.  You were just made for one another.  And Fate, knowing what was coming, bustles round and gets hold of poor, silly Mrs. Phillips so as to be able to say ‘Yah.’”

“Unless it all comes right in the end,” she added musingly; “and the poor old soul pegs out.  I wouldn’t give much for her liver.”

“That’s not bringing me up well,” suggested Joan:  “putting those ideas into my head.”

“Oh, well, one can’t help one’s thoughts,” explained Flossie.  “It would be a blessing all round.”

They had risen.  Joan folded her hands.  “Thank you for your scolding, ma’am,” she said.  “Shall I write out a hundred lines of Greek?  Or do you think it will be sufficient if I promise never to do it again?”

“You mean it?” said Flossie.  “Of course you will go on seeing him—­visiting them, and all that.  But you won’t go gadding about, so that people can talk?”

“Only through the bars, in future,” she promised.  “With the gaoler between us.”  She put her arms round Flossie and bent her head, so that her face was hidden.

Flossie still seemed troubled.  She held on to Joan.

“You are sure of yourself?” she asked.  “We’re only the female of the species.  We get hungry and thirsty, too.  You know that, kiddy, don’t you?”

Joan laughed without raising her face.  “Yes, ma’am, I know that,” she answered.  “I’ll be good.”

She sat in the dusk after Flossie had gone; and the laboured breathing of the tired city came to her through the open window.  She had rather fancied that martyr’s crown.  It had not looked so very heavy, the thorns not so very alarming—­as seen through the window.  She would wear it bravely.  It would rather become her.