“Oh, the plainer you make it that you don’t want them, the more sport they think it,” interrupted the girl with a laugh. Even the shopman wavered. Joan pressed her advantage; directed Mrs. Phillips’s attention to something a little less awful. Mrs. Phillips yielded.!

“I’m almost more sorry for myself than for him,” said Mary, making a whimsical grimace. “He will start something else, so soon as he’s got over his first soreness; but I’m too old to dream of another child.” The stone hall was still vibrating to the voices of the last departed guests. Joan was seated on a footstool before the fire in front of Mrs. Denton’s chair.

Joan gave an inward sigh. Hadn’t the poor lady any friends of her own. “Oh, almost anything,” she answered vaguely: “so long as it’s cheerful and non-political. What used you to talk about before he became a great man?” Mrs. Phillips gave a little start at seeing her; but was glad that she had come. Phillips had not been down for two days and she had been feeling lonesome. She persisted in talking more than Joan felt was good for her. She was feeling so much better, she explained. Joan was relieved when the nurse came back from her walk and insisted on her lying down. She dropped to sleep while Joan and the nurse were having their tea. “You’re not playing the game,” whispered Joan, shaking her head. “I only promised on condition that you would try to get well.”