e narrowest
possible slits in the cunningest fashion. "Some experience you know. I
am the last man to boast of it. A certain almost feminine
sensibility--and there you have my secret. I read the character of women
in their eyebrows. A woman's eyebrows. Oh, how loud they speak! I looked
at Miss Whitworth's eyebrows, and I exclaimed, 'There is a book
there--and I will read it!'"

Joan flamed into life. She clasped her hands together.

"Oh, will you?" The question was half wonder, half prayer.

No man could have shown a more charming condescension than did Mr.
Albany Todd at this moment.

"Indeed, I will. I read one book a year--never more. A few sentences in
bed in the morning, and a few sentences in bed at night. Yours shall be
my book for 1923." He took a little notebook and a pencil from his
pocket. "Now what title will it have?"

"'A Woman's Heart, and Who Broke It,'" replied Joan, blushing from her
temples to her throat.

Miranda repeated the title in an ecstasy of admiration, and asked the
world at large: "Isn't it all wonderful?"

"'And Who Broke It,'" quoted Mr. Albany Todd as he wrote the title down.
He put his pocket-book away.

"The volume I am reading now----"

"Yes?" said Joan eagerly. With what master was she to find herself in
company? She was not to know.

"----was given to me exquisitely bound by a very dear friend of mine,
now alas! in precarious health!--the Marquis of Bridlington," said Mr.
Albany Todd--an audible groan from Harold Jupp; an imploring glance from
Millie Splay, and to her immense relief the butler ushered in Harry
Luttrell. He was welcomed by Millie Splay, presented to Sir Chichester,
and surrounded by his friends. He was a trifle leaner than of old, and
there were lines now where before there had been none. His eyes, too,
had the queer, worn and sunken look which was becoming familiar in the
eyes of the young men on leave. Joan Whitworth watched him as he
entered, carelessly--for perhaps a second. Then her book dropped from
her hand upon the carpet--that book which she had so jealously read a
few minutes back. Now it lay where it had fallen. She leaned forward, as
though above all she wished to hear the sound of his voice. And when she
heard it, she drew in a little breath. He was speaking and laughing with
Sir Chichester, and the theme was nothing more important than Sir
Chichester's Honorary Membership of the Senga Mess.

"Lucky fellow!" cried Sir Chichester. "No trouble