"But what have you arranged to do?" I asked. "There's no reason you should put all your people off. I can go away for the time, or stop in another room, or something." "No, no; it's all right," whispered Joyce. "I'll tell you in a minute." She waited until we heard the front door shut, and then coming back to me sat down again on my knee. "I told Jack," she said, "not to let any one into the flat till three o'clock. I have an appointment then I ought to keep, but that still gives us nearly two hours. I will send Jack across to Stewart's to fetch us some lunch, and we'll have it in here. What would you like, my Neil?" "Anything but eggs and bacon," I said, getting out another cigarette. She jumped up with a laugh, and, after striking me a match, went out into the passage, leaving the door open. I heard her call the page-boy and give him some instructions, and then she came back into the room, her eyes dancing with happiness and excitement. "Isn't this splendid!" she exclaimed. "Only this morning I was utterly miserable wondering if you were dead, and here we are having lunch together just like the old days in Chelsea." "Except for your hair, Joyce," I said. "Don't you remember how it was always getting in your eyes?" "Oh, that!" she cried; "that's easily altered." She put up her hands, and hastily pulled out two or three hairpins. Then she shook her head, and in a moment a bronze mane was rippling down over her shoulders exactly as it used to in the old days. "I wish I could do something like that," I said ruefully. "I'm afraid my changes are more permanent." Joyce came up and thrust her arm into mine. "My poor dear," she said, pressing it to her. "Never mind; you look splendid as you are." "Won't your boy think there's something odd in our lunching together like this?" I asked. "He seems a pretty acute sort of youth." "Jack?" she said. "Oh, Jack's all right. He was a model in Chelsea. I took him away from his uncle, who used to beat him with a poker. He doesn't know anything about you, but if he did he would die for you cheerfully. He's by way of being rather grateful to me." "You always inspired devotion, Joyce," I said, smiling. "Do you remember how Tommy and I used to squabble as to which of us should eventually adopt you?" She nodded, almost gravely; then with a sudden change back to her former manner, she made a step towards the inner room, pulling me after her. "Come along," she said. "We'll lunch in there. It's more cheerful than this, and anyway I want to see you in the daylight." I followed her in through the curtains, and found myself in a small, narrow room with a window which looked out on the back of Burlington Arcade. A couple of chairs, a black oak gate-legged table, and a little green sofa made up the furniture. Joyce took me to the window, and still holding my arm, made a second and even longer inspection of McMurtrie's handiwork.