“Yes,” said Joan. “We are founding the League of Youth. You’ve got to be in it. We are going to establish branches all round the world.” There was a distinct challenge in Flossie’s eye as she asked the question. Joan felt herself flush, and thought a moment.!

“I shouldn’t have recognized you,” laughed Joan. “What was the occasion?” Joan crept out softly from the room.

It was a summer’s evening; Joan had dropped in at the Greysons and had found Mary alone, Francis not having yet returned from a bachelor dinner at his uncle’s, who was some big pot in the Navy. They sat in the twilight, facing the open French windows, through which one caught a glimpse of the park. A great stillness seemed to be around them. “Now, none of that,” he said severely. “It’s no good your thinking of me. I’m wedded to my art. We are talking about Mr. Halliday.” The old fanatic’s eyes passed from face to face. There was almost the suggestion of a smile about the savage mouth.