Mrs. Dobson glanced at Maud. “Really, my dear!” she said, but her voice was not cordial. “What else did he tell you?” “He hardly said anything. In fact, he didn’t tell me even that. Mr. Mayo, the manager, saw him as we were going out and I heard him call him ‘Captain’!” “Perhaps it’s a mistake, anyhow,” suggested Maud. “No, it isn’t. I stopped to find out--about the next concert, I mean--and Mr. Mayo told me he had greatly distinguished himself, and I’m not a bit surprised either.” And Joan looked at her mother and her sister with an air of saying, “What did I tell you?” “Well, he’s sure to come and see us and tell us all about it,” Mrs. Dobson remarked complacently. “I’m not so sure of that!” Joan spoke sharply. “Nonsense, dear! he’ll be only too pleased to, especially if we ask him--and now it’s war-time I think we might. Bygones are bygones.” Joan sighed deeply. It was evident she meant her mother to notice it. “Surely you’ve got over that little affair? You didn’t seem to mind at the time. Did you now, dear?” “What could I do with you all against me?” Joan’s face wore an expression of aggrieved reminiscence. “We thought it for your good, Joan. He was only a music-teacher and had no means at all.” “He was getting on splendidly, though. You forget that he had been appointed conductor of a big orchestra to tour the provinces--when the War came.” “Yes, but the War put a complete end to that and to all his prospects. A nice time you’d have had to wait,” said Maud. “It’s over now, so what’s the good of talking about it? I daresay he’s forgotten all about me long ago.” Joan sighed again and helped herself to tea. Half an hour later Clara Whigham called up Joan on the telephone. The family was accustomed to these conversations, which were sometimes of long duration. The two girls were intimate. It was through Clara that Joan had taken piano lessons at the Royal School of Music from Jack Leclerc. When Joan left the room Mrs. Dobson turned to her elder daughter. “Now, Maud, you’re such a sensible girl--what do you think about this young man turning up? He’s sure to be after Joan again, don’t you think?” Maud considered the question with her usual conscientious earnestness, while her mother sat anxiously watching her. “Well, now,” she said at length, “supposing he does?” “What do you mean, Maud? I don’t understand.” “Well, I mean that the War has changed everything. Look at Dora Newt. She Wouldn’t accept that young Mr. Firning because he was only a clerk in the bank. Now she’s engaged to him, all because he’s in the Army. Why, you know, mamma, Clara told you herself the other day she meant to have a War wedding.” “I must say I was shocked that so well brought up a girl should talk so lightly about marrying.” “I know, mamma, but everybody’s the same now; the War makes all the difference. And I think if Joan still wants him--after all, he’s a captain and--”