He gave her his address in Paris where he was returning almost immediately.

“Do come,” he said.  “It will take me back thirty-three years.  I proposed to your mother on La Grande Terrasse at St. Germain.  We will walk there.  I’m still a bachelor.”  He laughed, and, kissing her hand, allowed himself to be hauled away by Flossie, in exchange for Mrs. Phillips, for whom Miss Lavery had insisted on an invitation.

Joan had met Mrs. Phillips several times; and once, on the stairs, had stopped and spoken to her; but had never been introduced to her formally till now.

“We have been meaning to call on you so often,” panted Mrs. Phillips.  The room was crowded and the exertion of squeezing her way through had winded the poor lady.  “We take so much interest in your articles.  My husband—­” she paused for a second, before venturing upon the word, and the aitch came out somewhat over-aspirated—­“reads them most religiously.  You must come and dine with us one evening.”

Joan answered that she would be very pleased.

“I will find out when Robert is free and run up and let you know,” she continued.  “Of course, there are so many demands upon him, especially during this period of national crisis, that I spare him all the social duties that I can.  But I shall insist on his making an exception in your case.”

Joan murmured her sense of favour, but hoped she would not be allowed to interfere with more pressing calls upon Mr. Phillips’s time.

“It will do him good,” answered Mrs. Phillips; “getting away from them all for an hour or two.  I don’t see much of him myself.”

She glanced round and lowered her voice.  “They tell me,” she said, “that you’re a B.A.”

“Yes,” answered Joan.  “One goes in for it more out of vanity, I’m afraid, than for any real purpose that it serves.”

“I took one or two prizes myself,” said Mrs. Phillips.  “But, of course, one forgets things.  I was wondering if you would mind if I ran up occasionally to ask you a question.  Of course, as you know, my ’usband ’as ’ad so few advantages”—­the lady’s mind was concerned with more important matters, and the aspirates, on this occasion, got themselves neglected—­“It is wonderful what he ’as done without them.  But if, now and then, I could ’elp him—­”

There was something about the poor, foolish painted face, as it looked up pleadingly, that gave it a momentary touch of beauty.

“Do,” said Joan, speaking earnestly.  “I shall be so very pleased if you will.”

“Thank you,” said the woman.  Miss Lavery came up in a hurry to introduce her to Miss Tolley.  “I am telling all my friends to read your articles,” she added, resuming the gracious patroness, as she bowed her adieus.

Joan was alone again for a while.  A handsome girl, with her hair cut short and parted at the side, was discussing diseases of the spine with a curly-headed young man in a velvet suit.  The gentleman was describing some of the effects in detail.  Joan felt there was danger of her being taken ill if she listened any longer; and seeing Madge’s brother near the door, and unoccupied, she made her way across to him.