“Oh, yes,” he answered. “But I tried the wrong way.” “The right way might be found,” he added, “by the right man, and woman.” They parted at Charing Cross. Joan would write. They agreed it would be better to choose separate days for their visits to Folkestone.!

“No,” she answered with a laugh, “no matter what happens, I shall always want to be in it.” “It doesn’t matter, dearie,” she explained. “They know, if they find it open, that I’m in.”

“Only the really wicked,” contended Flossie. “It would classify us. We should know then which were the sheep and which the goats. At present we’re all jumbled together: the ungodly who sin out of mere greed and rapacity, and the just men compelled to sell their birthright of fine instincts for a mess of meat and potatoes.” Joan told her plans. “You’ll be able to get along without me for a little while?” she asked doubtfully. She slipped the letter unconsciously into the bosom of her dress, and sat looking out of the window. It promised to be a glorious day, and London was stifling and gritty. Surely no one but an unwholesome-minded prude could jib at a walk across a park. Mrs. Phillips would be delighted to hear that she had gone. For the matter of that, she would tell her—when next they met.