He had stopped at the corner.  They were still beneath the shadow of the trees.  Quite unconsciously she put her face up; and as if it had always been the custom at their partings, he drew her to him and kissed her; though it really was for the first time.

She walked home instead of taking the bus.  She wanted to think.  A day or two would decide the question.  She determined that if the miracle did not happen, she would go down to Liverpool.  Her father was on the committee of one of the great hospitals; and she knew one or two of the matrons.  She would want to be doing something—­to get out to the front, if possible.  Maybe, her desire to serve was not altogether free from curiosity—­from the craving for adventure.  There’s a spice of the man even in the best of women.

Her conscience plagued her when she thought of Mrs. Denton.  For some time now, they had been very close together; and the old lady had come to depend upon her.  She waited till all doubt was ended before calling to say good-bye.  Mrs. Denton was seated before an old bureau that had long stood locked in a corner of the library.  The drawers were open and books and papers were scattered about.

Joan told her plans.  “You’ll be able to get along without me for a little while?” she asked doubtfully.

Mrs. Denton laughed.  “I haven’t much more to do,” she answered.  “Just tidying up, as you see; and two or three half-finished things I shall try to complete.  After that, I’ll perhaps take a rest.”

She took from among the litter a faded photograph and handed it to Joan.  “Odd,” she said.  “I’ve just turned it out.”

It represented a long, thin line of eminently respectable ladies and gentlemen in early Victorian costume.  The men in peg-top trousers and silk stocks, the women in crinolines and poke bonnets.  Among them, holding the hand of a benevolent-looking, stoutish gentleman, was a mere girl.  The terminating frills of a white unmentionable garment showed beneath her skirts.  She wore a porkpie hat with a feather in it.

“My first public appearance,” explained Mrs. Denton.  “I teased my father into taking me with him.  We represented Great Britain and Ireland.  I suppose I’m the only one left.”

“I shouldn’t have recognized you,” laughed Joan.  “What was the occasion?”

“The great International Peace Congress at Paris,” explained Mrs. Denton; “just after the Crimean war.  It made quite a stir at the time.  The Emperor opened our proceedings in person, and the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury both sent us their blessing.  We had a copy of the speeches presented to us on leaving, in every known language in Europe, bound in vellum.  I’m hoping to find it.  And the Press was enthusiastic.  There were to be Acts of Parliament, Courts of Arbitration, International Laws, Diplomatic Treaties.  A Sub-Committee was appointed to prepare a special set of prayers and a Palace of Peace was to be erected.  There was only one thing we forgot, and that was the foundation.”