“Thanks,” said Joan. “I have heard of it.” The child turned her head as they walked and looked at her. Joan felt herself smarting under that look, but persisted.!

“How do you mean ‘in his way’?” demanded Joan. It certainly, if Froude was to be trusted, could not have been the orthodox way. They were sitting in the hall of the hotel. It was the dressing hour and the place was almost empty. He shot a swift glance at her.

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. Joan looked at her watch. She had an article to finish. Madge stood on tiptoe and kissed her. She touched his hand lightly.