She caught glimpses of every one as they went round. Mrs. Combermere's cloth of gold, Lady St. Leath's white hair. Poor Lady Mary--such a pity that they could not do something for her complexion. Spotty. Joan liked her. She did much good to the poor in Seatown, and it must be agony to her, poor thing, to go down there, because she was so terribly shy. Her next dance was with Johnny. She called him Johnny. And why should she not, secretly to herself? Ah, there was mother, all alone. And there was Mr. Morris coming up to speak to her. Kind of him. But he _was_ a kind man. She liked him. Very shy, though. All the nicest people seemed to be shy--except Johnny, who wasn't shy at all. The music stopped and, breathless, they stayed for a moment before finding two chairs. Now was coming the time that she so greatly disliked. Whatever to say to Mr. Forsyth? They sat down in the long passage outside the ballroom. The floor ran like a ribbon from under their feet into dim shining distance. Or rather, Joan thought, it was like a stream, and on either side the dancers were sitting, dabbling their toes and looking self-conscious. "Do you like it where you are?" Joan asked of the shining black silk waistcoat that gleamed beside her. "Oh, you know...." neighed Mr. Forsyth. "It's all right, you know. The old Bishop's kind enough." "Bishop Clematis?" said Joan. "Yes. There ain't enough to do, you know. But I don't expect I'll be there long. No, I don't.... Pity poor Morrison at Pybus dying like that." Joan of course at once understood the allusion. She also understood that Mr. Forsyth was begging her to bestow upon him any little piece of news that she might have obtained. But that seemed to her mean--spying--spying on her own father. So she only said: "You're very fond of riding, aren't you?" "Love it," said Mr. Forsyth, whinnying so exactly like a happy pony that Joan jumped. "Don't you?" "I've never been on horseback in my life," said Joan. "I'd like to try." "Never in your life?" Mr. Forsyth stared. "Why, I was on a pony before I was three. Fact. Good for a clergyman, riding----" "I think it's nearly time for the next dance," said Joan. "Would you kindly take me back to my mother?" She was conscious, as they plunged down-stream, of all the burning glances. She held her head high. Her eyes flashed. She was going to dance with Johnny, and they could look as much as they liked. Mr. Forsyth delivered her to her mother and went cantering off. Joan sat down, smoothed her dress and stared at the vast shiny lake of amber in which the silver candelabra were reflected like little islands. She looked at her mother and was suddenly sorry for her. It must be dull, when you were as old as mother, coming to these dances--and especially when you had so few friends. Her mother had never made many friends. "Wasn't that Mr. Morris who was talking to you just now?" "Yes, dear." "I like him. He looks kind." "Yes, dear." "And where's father?"