ghter-filled than anything else. For the rest, Joan was an ordinary
independent young lady of the twentieth century who had lived in London
"on her own" for six months.

How her independence had come about is a complicated story. It had not
been with the approval of her people; the only people she possessed
being an old uncle and aunt who lived in the country. All Joan's nearer
relations were dead; had died when she was still a child; Uncle John and
Aunt Janet had seen to her bringing up. But at twenty-two and a-half
Joan had suddenly rebelled against the quiet monotony of their home
life. She had broken it to them gently at first, with an obstinate
resolve to get her own way at the back of her mind; in the end, as is
usually the case when youth pits itself against age, she had won the
day. Uncle John had agreed to a small but adequate allowance, Aunt Janet
had wept a few rather bitter tears in private, and Joan had come to
London to train as a secretary, according to herself. They had taken
rooms for her in the house of a lady Aunt Janet had known in girlhood,
and there Joan had dutifully remained. It was not very lively, but she
had a sense of gratitude in her heart towards Aunt Janet which prevented
her from moving. Joan was not thinking of all this as she sat there, nor
was she exactly seeing the sweep of grass that spread out in front of
them, nor the flowering shrubs on every side. Hyde Park was ablaze with
flowers on this hot summer's day and in addition a whole bed of
heliotrope was in bloom just behind their chairs. The faint sweet scent
of the flowers mixed with Joan's thoughts and brought a quick vision of
Aunt Janet. But more deeply still her mind was struggling with a desire
to know what exactly it was that swayed her when Gilbert Stanning spoke
to her, or when--as more often than not--he in some way or other
contrived to touch her. She had met him first at a dance that she had
been taken to by another girl and she had known him now about four
months. It was strange and a little disturbing the tumult his eyes waked
in her heart. The first time he had kissed her, one evening when they
had been driving home from the theatre in a taxi, she had turned and
clung to him, because suddenly it had seemed as if the whole world was
sweeping away from her. Gilbert had taken the action to mean that she
loved him; he had never wavered from that belief since. He possessed
every spare minute of her days, he kissed her whene