he man then whom Lady Linden believed to be Joan's husband,
the man whom Joan had denied she had married, and who she had stated to
General Bartholomew was scarcely more than a stranger to her.

And, looking at him, Helen knew that if Hugh Alston and she met again,
he would certainly not know her, for he had no eyes for anything save
the lovely cold face of the girl before him.

"Oh, Joan," she said, "there is one of those bags I have been wanting to
get for a long time past. Excuse me, Joan dear, will you?" And Helen
made hurriedly to a shop hard by, leaving them together.

Joan felt angry with herself now it was too late. She ought to have
given him the coldest of cold bows and then ignored him; but she had
been weak, and she had spoken, and now Helen had deserted her.

"I will say good-bye, Mr. Alston, and go after my friend."

"No, wait--wait. I want to speak to you, to thank you."

"To thank me?" She lifted her eyebrows. "For what?"

"For speaking to me."

"That sounds very humble, doesn't it?" She laughed sharply.

"I am very humble to you, Joan!"

"Mr. Alston, do you realise that I am very angry with myself?" she said
coldly. "I acted on a foolish impulse. I ought not to have spoken to
you."

"You acted on a generous impulse, that is natural to you. Now you are
pretending one that is unworthy of you, Joan."

"I do not think you have any right to speak to me so, nor call me by
that name."

"I must call you by the name I constantly think of you by. Joan, do you
remember what I said to you when we last met?"

"No, I--" She flushed suddenly. To deny, was unworthy of her. "Yes, I
remember."

"It is true, remember what I said. I take not one word of it back. It is
true, and will remain true all my life."

"My friend--will be wondering--"

"Joan, be a little merciful."

And now for the first time he noticed that she was not dressed as he had
seen her last. There was a suggestion of wealth, of ample means about
her appearance. Clothes were the last thing that Hugh thought of, or
noticed. Yet gradually Joan's clothes began to thrust themselves on his
notice. She was well dressed, and the stylish and becoming clothes
heightened her beauty, if possible.

"Joan, I have a confession to make."

She bent her head.

"I couldn't act unfairly or deal in an underhand way with you."

"I thought differently!" she said bitterly.

"I remembered my promise made to you at General Bartholomew's, yet I
came to