“Joy, you know that you can’t stay in that place alone,” said Jim. “That’s one reason why I insisted on seeing you to-night—I wanted to find out your plans.” “Jerry wants me to stay in it till July—and it’s so much easier for me in every way—especially practicing—than if I boarded anywhere——” Jim shook his head. “This Félicie Durant you speak of, who lives in Brighton with her great-aunt—perhaps she could persuade her aunt to rent Jerry’s apartment, and then keep you as a boarder. If you suggest that scheme to her, she might think of offering to take you in with them even if they didn’t care to move.” “That is—a good suggestion,” she said uncertainly. She was in that state of mind where she hated to take any steps, make any plans. “If that fails, you’ll have to apply to the Students’ Union for lists of recommendable places,” he added with quiet finality. “Oh, is that what one does?” She felt foolishly incompetent. “How did you know?” “I’ve been making inquiries myself. I knew you were alone there, and that you couldn’t stay that way.” Joy felt an embracing peace, the peace of decision in which Jim always enveloped her. “Jim,” she said suddenly, “what have I ever done—or been, except a foolish girl—that you should be so good to me? At the very first, you did—more than I can ever repay—and then you went on—always helping me, in ways that really were help—and understanding so well—sometimes better than I understand myself!” Jim looked at her across the table, and the keen friendliness dropped from his eyes, all at once; leaving them naked. Involuntarily Joy turned away her face. When his voice came, it was quiet, with a new current bearing it along. “It is because I have understood so well—that I’ve never told you what I must tell you now. The brakes won’t hold—I think I have loved you, Joy, from the time your lip quivered when you told me to take you back to Tom.” A pause while the Chinese waiter took away their dishes. Of all moments to bring in his tardy self! Joy started to speak, to falter her way with lips suddenly tender, but he was looking away from her now and beyond. “I think you ought to know, Joy—that I love you more than anyone else in this world. You—you mean life to me.” There was no wild heart-beat trembling in her being as she heard his words, nothing but peace and a great content. “Oh, Jim!” she said in a little voice, then waited for his eyes to meet hers. . . . It had not come within the halo of dreams nor in the area of the disturbing thrills of youth—it came in a golden calm. Jim was the Perfect Knight, of whom she had dreamed in the days when she supposed one had but to wait and the knight would come a-riding; the Perfect Knight, with spotless shield and shining armour. The shield was his spotless life, making him more than worthy of her; the armour was the white strength of his soul and his body with which he had defended her at all times, since the very first.