Joan stood for many moments in silence, her hand still resting on the girl’s shoulder. Then she drew Ellice to her; she thrust back the shining hair, and kissed the girl’s forehead. “I think—yes, I think I shall do all this, Ellice,” she said. CHAPTER XLIV POISON “Johnny! Johnny! Have you gone to sleep, dear? There is someone here to see you.” “Eh?” Johnny started into wakefulness, he huddled his untidy papers together. “I must have been dozing off. I was thinking. Con, is Gipsy back yet?” “Not yet, and I am getting a little anxious about her; it is almost dusk. But there is someone here asking for you.” “Who?” “A man, a—a—gentleman, I suppose. He looks as if he has been drinking, though.” “A nice sort of visitor for a Sunday evening. What is his name, Con?” “Slotman.” “Don’t know it. I suppose I’d better see him. Wait, I’ll light the lamp. If Ellice isn’t back soon I shall go and hunt for her. Do you know which direction she went in?” “I—I think—” Connie hesitated; she was never any good at concealment. “I think she went towards Starden.” “Then when we’ve got rid of this fellow I’ll get out the car and go and find her. Show him in, Con.” Mr. Philip Slotman, looking shaken, bearing on his face several patches of court plaster, which were visible, and in his breast a black fury that was invisible, came in. “Mr. Slotman?” “Yes, you are Mr. Everard?” Johnny nodded pleasantly. “If it is business, Sunday evening is hardly the time—” “It is personal and private business, Mr. Everard.” The man, Johnny decided, was not, as Con had supposed, drunk, but he had evidently been in the wars. It was surprising the number of places in which he seemed to be wounded. He walked stiffly, he carried his right arm stiffly. His face was decorated with plaster, and his obviously very good clothes were torn; for what Hugh Alston had commenced so ably last night, Rundle had completed this morning. “It is private and personal, my business with you. I understand you are engaged to be married to a lady in whom I have felt some interest.” Johnny looked up and stiffened. “Well?” “I allude to Miss Joan Meredyth, for some time engaged by me as a typist in my city office.” “Well?” “Miss Meredyth did not always hold the position in society that she does now.” “I am aware of that.” “There may be a great deal that you are not aware of,” said Slotman; and Slotman was quivering with rage at the indignities he had been subjected to. “You will forgive me,” said Johnny, “but I do not propose to discuss my future wife with a stranger—with anyone at all, in fact, and certainly not with a stranger.” “And you will forgive me,” said Slotman, “but when you have heard what I have to say, I very much doubt if you will regard Miss Joan Meredyth in the light of your future wife.” Johnny moved towards the door and opened it. “I think it will be better if you go,” he said quietly. “If you do, you will be sorry when it is too late. I come here as a friend—”