"Well, Joanna, she must be thirty, and, mark my words, whatever people may say about there being no men left, _things are happening every day_. Half the mothers in London are getting their girls off now, what with officers back on leave and officers in hospitals, and those dear Colonials. Girls who never had a look in before the war can do anything they like in the way of nursing, or leading the blind about, or working in some of those departments where the over-age men are. Char is just the sort of creature to prefer a man old enough to be her grandfa--" Mrs. Willoughby's jaw dropped, and she made a repentant snatch at Joanna's hand. "Forgive me, darling! _How_ idiotic to say such a thing to you, of all people! But if you'll give me your girl, I'll undertake to find chances for her. She'll be very good-looking when she doesn't look so sulky and take such airs, and one could make capital of all the patriotic work she's been doing down here. And I _always_ think it's rather an asset than otherwise to be in mourning, especially in these days. Black suits her, too, with that sandy colouring. Does she choose her own clothes, Joanna?" "She does, Lesbia, and has chosen them ever since she was out of long clothes, as far as I remember. But--" "Joanna, you've been culpably weak, and of course that poor, dear old man had simply no idea of discipline. But I can put the whole thing right for you in six weeks, when the dear girl comes to me." "It's no use, Lesbia," said Joanna, half laughing. "It's very kind of you, but Char wouldn't hear of it and really at thirty I can't coerce her--besides, there's her work here." "My dear, you don't mean to say that you're going to allow that to go on?" "To begin with, I couldn't prevent it. To go on with, I think it perfectly right that Char should do what she can in the way of war-work. There wouldn't be the slightest object in her giving it up now." "But Sir Piers--the memory of his wishes--_his_ memory!" almost shrieked Mrs. Willoughby. "His memory will survive it, Lesbia. Besides, as long as he was himself, you know, he didn't mind her doing war-work. He quite understood the necessity, and was proud of her." "But, my dear, wrong-headed creature, when she so deliberately and heartlessly went against his wishes at the last?" "Well," said Joanna placidly, "she won't be doing that now, so she can go on working with a clear conscience." "Joanna," said Mrs. Willoughby, with an air of discovery, "upon my word, I don't understand you." Nevertheless, she devoted the major half of the afternoon to the object of her perplexity. "One word, dearest, I must say," she declared at the end of an hour that, to Joanna's thinking, held already more than a sufficiency of words. "Have you considered what is happening to that delightful lad?" "Never," said Joanna unhesitatingly. "And who on earth are you talking about, Lesbia?"