He did not answer for some time. She had begun to wonder if he had heard. Joan murmured her thanks.!

“I should keep out of it if I were you,” laughed Joan. “Why is the Press always so eager for war?” mused Joan. “According to their own account, war doesn’t pay them.”

“You won’t mind Robert not wearing evening dress,” she said. “He never will if he can help it. I shall just slip on a semi-toilette myself.” It was Carleton of the Daily Dispatch group who had first divined her possibilities. With a swift glance on his way through, he had picked her out from a line of depressed-looking men and women ranged against the wall of the dark entrance passage; and with a snap of his fingers had beckoned to her to follow him. Striding in front of her up to his room, he had pointed to a chair and had left her sitting there for three-quarters of an hour, while he held discussion with a stream of subordinates, managers and editors of departments, who entered and departed one after another, evidently in pre-arranged order. All of them spoke rapidly, without ever digressing by a single word from the point, giving her the impression of their speeches having been rehearsed beforehand. The lonely woman touched her lightly on the hand. There shot a pleading look from the old stern eyes.