Milly looked up from the strap of her violin case. "Hullo, Joan! This is jolly, isn't it?" Joan kissed her and shook hands with Harriet. "I'll leave you now," said Miss Jackson, obviously anxious to get away. Harriet raised her eyebrows. "_Vieille grue_!" she remarked, scarcely below her breath. Milly laughed again, she seemed easily amused, and Joan scrutinized her closely. She was painfully thin and the laugh was a little husky; otherwise she looked much as usual at that moment. Joan's heart beat more freely; supposing it were a false alarm after all? Suppose it should be only a matter of a month or two, at most, before Milly would be quite well again and she herself free? "How do you feel?" she inquired with ill-concealed anxiety. "Oh, pretty fit, thank you. I think it's all rot myself. I suppose Old Scout informed you that I was going into a decline, but I beg to differ. A few weeks at Seabourne will cure me all right. Good Lord! I should just think so!" and she made a grimace. Harriet began humming a sort of vocal five-finger exercise; Joan glared at her. Damn the woman! Couldn't she keep quiet? Harriet laughed. "Don't slay me with a glance, my dear!" Joan forced herself to smile. "I was thinking we'd be late for the train." "Oh, no, you weren't; but never mind. You amuse me, Joan. May I call you Joan? Well, in any case, you amuse me. Oh! But you are too funny and young and gauche, a regular boor, and your grey-green coloured eyes go quite black when you're angry. I should never be able to resist making you angry just for the pleasure of seeing your eyes change colour; do you think you could manage to get really angry with me some day?" Joan felt hot with embarrassment. What was the matter with this woman; didn't she know that she was in the room with a perfectly awful tragedy, didn't she realize that here was something that would probably ruin three people's lives? She wondered if this was Harriet's way of keeping the situation in hand, of trying to carry the thing off lightly. Perhaps, after all, she was only making an effort to fall in with Milly's mood; that must be it, of course. Harriet's decided voice went on persistently. "Come up and see me sometimes; don't stop away because Milly isn't here, though I expect she'll be back soon. But in the meantime come up and see me; I shall like to see you quite often, if you'll come." "Thank you," said Joan, "but I'm never in London." Harriet smiled complacently. "We'll see," she murmured. Joan turned to Milly. "Come on, Milly, we ought to go; it's getting late." 4