"Stole away," murmured Mrs. Rossiter amusedly. "That was rather crude of Eduard. He doesn't usually run to such lengths.... You mean he actually in so many words invited you to _marry_ him?" Joan covered her eyes again. "I suppose not," she said in a small, miserable voice. "No, he didn't. But he--he kissed me as if we were engaged, and I kissed him back!" "Oh," murmured the other. "You find engaged kisses so very different, then, from the other kind?" Joan cried indignantly, "I don't know anything about the other kind! I've never kissed a man before in my life." "No? 'More kissed against than kissing,' perhaps?" The girl lifted her chin as haughtily as it is possible to lift a chin that is quivering with held-in sobs. "I have never been kissed either--except on the hand or the ear or something, which doesn't count." "No, that hardly counts," agreed her inquisitor, looking at the girl quite curiously. "See here," she asked in another tone, "how old are you, Miss Darcy?" "Nineteen." "Hmmn! Younger than I thought. Still, a Southern girl--" "Can be just as decent as any other kind!" cried angry Joan. "Anyway, I'm only part a Southern girl. But I know! Lots of them are just as nice about such things as Betty, for instance." "Nice, of course," agreed Mrs. Rossiter. "And tremendously attractive. But just for that reason a little more--well, experienced, don't you think? We get our experience later, perhaps.... And you seemed particularly well-seasoned, able to take care of yourself, playing them off against each other like a little veteran. I've told Jane Desmond so more than once. She wanted to warn you--but I told her you knew the ropes." "I didn't," said Joan tremulously, "Warn me of what?" "Why, of Ned. She was afraid you might really land him. The wariest of fish takes the hook at last!" Joan winced at the remark, but she was too busy getting to the bottom of things to resent it. "Why did she object to my marrying him?" Mrs. Rossiter stared. "Good Lord! Well, because she's got a girl of her own, for one thing. Because she's married to a Desmond herself, for another. She knows the breed, poor Jane!" Light was breaking on Joan. "You mean--she objected for _my_ sake?" "Of course!" said Mrs. Rossiter rather impatiently. "Ned's all right as a brother-in-law, useful to have about, to run errands, etc. One has to have a man in the house, and she's really rather fond of him. But to marry him off to a fresh young girl like you!--No, no, Jane's not that sort." "Oh," said Joan faintly. She began to realize that instead of antagonism, it had been friendliness that watched her, motherly, anxious kindness, which she had been too blind to understand. "Oh, Mrs. Rossiter," she cried tremulously, "I've been horrid!"