He had passed through the swing doors; and they were standing on the pavement waiting for Joan’s bus.

“Why did we all like him?” asked Joan.  “Even Miss Lavery.  There’s nothing extraordinary about him.”

“Oh yes there is,” said Madge.  “Love has lent him gilded armour.  From his helmet waves her crest,” she quoted.  “Most men look fine in that costume.  Pity they can’t always wear it.”

The conductor seemed impatient.  Joan sprang upon the step and waved her hand.

CHAPTER VII

Joan was making herself a cup of tea when there came a tap at the door.  It was Mrs. Phillips.

“I heard you come in,” she said.  “You’re not busy, are you?”

“No,” answered Joan.  “I hope you’re not.  I’m generally in about this time; and it’s always nice to gossip over a dish of tea.”

“Why do you say ‘dish’ of tea!” asked Mrs. Phillips, as she lowered herself with evident satisfaction into the easy chair Joan placed for her.

“Oh, I don’t know,” laughed Joan.  “Dr. Johnson always talked of a ‘dish’ of tea.  Gives it a literary flavour.”

“I’ve heard of him,” said Mrs. Phillips.  “He’s worth reading, isn’t he?”

“Well, he talked more amusingly than he wrote,” explained Joan.  “Get Boswell’s Life of him.  Or I’ll lend you mine,” she added, “if you’ll be careful of it.  You’ll find all the passages marked that are best worth remembering.  At least, I think so.”

“Thanks,” said Mrs. Phillips.  “You see, as the wife of a public man, I get so little time for study.”

“Is it settled yet?” asked Joan.  “Are they going to make room for him in the Cabinet?

“I’m afraid so,” answered Mrs. Phillips.  “Oh, of course, I want him to,” she corrected herself.  “And he must, of course, if the King insists upon it.  But I wish it hadn’t all come with such a whirl.  What shall I have to do, do you think?”

Joan was pouring out the tea.  “Oh, nothing,” she answered, “but just be agreeable to the right people.  He’ll tell you who they are.  And take care of him.”

“I wish I’d taken more interest in politics when I was young,” said Mrs. Phillips.  “Of course, when I was a girl, women weren’t supposed to.”

“Do you know, I shouldn’t worry about them, if I were you,” Joan advised her.  “Let him forget them when he’s with you.  A man can have too much of a good thing,” she laughed.

“I wonder if you’re right,” mused Mrs. Phillips.  “He does often say that he’d just as soon I didn’t talk about them.”

Joan shot a glance from over her cup.  The poor puzzled face was staring into the fire.  Joan could almost hear him saying it.

“I’m sure I am,” she said.  “Make home-coming a change to him.  As you said yourself the other evening.  It’s good for him to get away from it all, now and then.”

“I must try,” agreed Mrs. Phillips, looking up.  “What sort of things ought I to talk to him about, do you think?”