party, who were not at all distressed by
Sir Chichester's procrastination. When the others streamed into the
hall, Joan lingered behind, sedulously buttoning her gloves which were
buttoned before; and Harry Luttrell returned to assist her. The door was
three-quarters closed. From the hall no one could see them.

"You are going to dance with me in the passage," he said.

Joan smiled at him and nodded. Now that Miranda had given way, Joan's
spirits had revived. The colour was bright in her cheeks, her eyes were
tender.

"Yes, but not at once."

"Why?"

"I'll finish my duty dances first," said Joan in a low voice. She did
not take her eyes from his face. She let him read, she meant him to
read, in her eyes what lay so close at her heart. Harry Luttrell read
without an error, the print was so large, the type so clear. He took a
step nearer to her.

"Joan!" he whispered; and at this, his first use of her Christian name,
her face flowered like a rose.

"Thank you!" she said softly. "Oh, thank you!"

Harry Luttrell looked over his shoulder. They had the room to
themselves, so long as they did not raise their voices.

"Joan," he began with a little falter in his voice. Could he have
pleaded better in a thousand fine speeches, he who had seen his men
wither about him on the Somme, than by that little timorous quaver in
his voice? "Joan, I have something to ask of you to-night. I meant to
ask it during a dance, when you couldn't run away. But I am going to ask
it now."

Joan drew back sharply.

"No! Please wait!" and as she saw his face cloud, she hurried on. "Oh,
don't be hurt! You misunderstand. How you misunderstand! Take me in to
supper to-night, will you? And then you shall talk to me, and I'll
listen." Her voice rose like clear sweet music in a lilt of joy. "I'll
listen with all my heart, my hands openly in yours if you will, so that
all may see and know my pride!"

"Joan!" he whispered.

"But not now! Not till then!"

Harry Luttrell did not consider what scruple in the girl's conscience
held him off. The delay did not trouble him at all. She stood before
him, radiant in her beauty, her happiness like an aura about her.

"Joan," he whispered again, and--how it happened who shall say?--in a
second she was within his arms, her heart throbbing against his; her
hands stole about his shoulders; their lips were pressed together.

"Harry! Oh, Harry!" she murmured. Then very gently she pushed him from
her. Sh