"Well, then.... There's this new fellow Ronder coming to-day. Don't know much about him, but he won't give much trouble, I expect--trouble in the way of delaying things, I mean. What we want is work done expeditiously. I've just about got that Chapter moving at last. Ten years' hard work. Deserve a V.C. or something. Hey?" "Yes, dear, I'm sure you do." The Archdeacon gave one of his well-known roars of laughter--a laugh famous throughout the county, a laugh described by his admirers as "Homeric," by his enemies as "ear-splitting." There was, however, enemies or no enemies, something sympathetic in that laugh, something boyish and simple and honest. He suddenly pulled himself up, bringing his long legs close against his broad chest. "No letter from Falk to-day, was there?" "No, dear." "Humph. That's three weeks we haven't heard. Hope there's nothing wrong." "What could there be wrong, dear?" "Nothing, of course.... Well, Joan, and what have you been doing with yourself all day?" It was only in his most happy and resplendent moods that the Archdeacon held jocular conversations with his daughter. These conversations had been, in the past, moments of agony and terror to her, but since that morning when she had suddenly woken to a realisation of the marvellous possibilities in life her terror had left her. There were other people in the world besides her father.... Nevertheless, a little, her agitation was still with her. She looked up at him, smiling. "Oh, I don't know, father.... I went to the Library this morning to change the books for mother--" "Novels, I suppose. No one ever reads anything but trash nowadays." "They hadn't anything that mother put down. They never have. Miss Milton sits on the new novels and keeps them for Mrs. Sampson and Mrs. Combermere." "Sits on them?" "Yes--really sits on them. I saw her take one from under her skirt the other day when Mrs. Sampson asked for it. It was one that mother has wanted a long time." The Archdeacon was angry. "I never heard anything so scandalous. I'll just see to that. What's the use of being on the Library Committee if that kind of thing happens? That woman shall go." "Oh no! father!..." "Of course she shall go. I never heard anything so dishonest in my life!..." Joan remembered that little conversation until the end of her life. And with reason. The door was flung open. Some one came hurriedly in, then stopped, with a sudden arrested impulse, looking at them. It was Falk.