Joan had no intention of being lured into the Birmingham parlour.  She thought she could see in it a scheme for her gradual entanglement.  Besides, she was highly displeased.  She had intended asking her father to come to Brighton with her.  As a matter of fact, she had forgotten all about Christmas; and the idea only came into her head while explaining to Arthur how his impulsiveness had interfered with it.  Arthur, crestfallen, suggested telegrams.  It would be quite easy to alter everything; and of course her father would rather be with her, wherever it was.  But it seemed it was too late.  She ought to have been consulted.  A sudden sense of proprietorship in her father came to her assistance and added pathos to her indignation.  Of course, now, she would have to spend Christmas alone.  She was far too busy to think of Birmingham.  She could have managed Brighton.  Argument founded on the length of journey to Birmingham as compared with the journey to Brighton she refused to be drawn into.  Her feelings had been too deeply wounded to permit of descent into detail.

But the sinner, confessing his fault, is entitled to forgiveness, and, having put him back into his proper place, she let him kiss her hand.  She even went further and let him ask her out to dinner.  As the result of her failure to reform Mrs. Phillips she was feeling dissatisfied with herself.  It was an unpleasant sensation and somewhat new to her experience.  An evening spent in Arthur’s company might do her good.  The experiment proved successful.  He really was quite a dear boy.  Eyeing him thoughtfully through the smoke of her cigarette, it occurred to her how like he was to Guido’s painting of St. Sebastian; those soft, dreamy eyes and that beautiful, almost feminine, face!  There always had been a suspicion of the saint about him even as a boy:  nothing one could lay hold of:  just that odd suggestion of a shadow intervening between him and the world.

It seemed a favourable opportunity to inform him of that fixed determination of hers:  never—­in all probability—­to marry:  but to devote her life to her work.  She was feeling very kindly towards him; and was able to soften her decision with touches of gentle regret.  He did not appear in the least upset.  But ‘thought’ that her duty might demand, later on, that she should change her mind:  that was if fate should offer her some noble marriage, giving her wider opportunity.

She was a little piqued at his unexpected attitude of aloofness.  What did he mean by a “noble marriage”—­to a Duke, or something of that sort?

He did not think the candidature need be confined to Dukes, though he had no objection to a worthy Duke.  He meant any really great man who would help her and whom she could help.

She promised, somewhat shortly, to consider the matter, whenever the Duke, or other class of nobleman, should propose to her.  At present no sign of him had appeared above the horizon.  Her own idea was that, if she lived long enough, she would become a spinster.  Unless someone took pity on her when she was old and decrepit and past her work.