Flossie’s young man was standing near the fire talking, or rather listening, to a bird-like little woman in a short white frock and blue ribbons. A sombre lady just behind her, whom Joan from the distance took to be her nurse, turned out to be her secretary, whose duty it was to be always at hand, prepared to take down any happy idea that might occur to the bird-like little woman in the course of conversation. The bird-like little woman was Miss Rose Tolley, a popular novelist. She was explaining to Flossie’s young man, whose name was Sam Halliday, the reason for her having written “Running Waters,” her latest novel. She never quite remembered what the talk was about. Men were brought up and presented to her, and hung about her words, and sought to please her. She had spoken her own thoughts, indifferent whether they expressed agreement or not; and the argument had invariably taken another plane. It seemed so important that she should be convinced. Some had succeeded, and had been strengthened. Others had failed, and had departed sorrowful, conscious of the necessity of “thinking it out again.”!

“He had his own private theatre,” Joan explained, “where Wagner gave his operas. And the King was the sole audience.” “Oh, the plainer you make it that you don’t want them, the more sport they think it,” interrupted the girl with a laugh.

It would be rather pleasant. There was a little place at Meudon, she remembered. The plane trees would just be in full leaf. “I did go over it,” he answered. “But it would be rather absurd for just Mary and me.” “We must help her,” she answered somewhat lamely. “She’s anxious to learn, I know.”