ught both her
hands. "Joan, Joan," he cried, and his voice was a little hoarse, "my
dear, you can't. . . . You just can't. . . ."

"What great brain was it who said something really crushing about that
word 'Can't?'" she said lightly.

"Then you just mustn't." His grip almost hurt her, but she made no
effort to take away her hands.

"The trouble, my very dear friend, seems to me to be that--I just
must." Gently she disengaged her hands, and at that moment Mrs. Green
arrived with the tea.

"The dearest and kindest woman in London," said Vane with a smile to
Joan. "Since the days of my callow youth Mrs. Green has watched over
me like a mother. . . ."

"I expect he wanted some watching too, Mrs. Green," cried Joan.

Mrs. Green laughed, and set down the tea. "Show me the young gentleman
that doesn't, Miss," she said, "and I'll show you one that's no manner
of use to anybody. . . ."

She arranged the plates and cups and then with a final--"You'll ring if
you want more butter, sir"--she left the room.

"Think of it, Joan," said Vane. "Ring if you want more butter! Is it
a phrase from a dead language?" He pulled up a chair. . . . "Will you
preside, please, and decant the juice?"

The girl sat down and smiled at him over the teapot. "A big, fat tea,"
she murmured, "with lots of scones and Devonshire cream. . . ."

"I thought you suggested talking about rather less dangerous topics,"
said Vane quietly. Their eyes met, and suddenly Vane leaned forward.
"Tell me, grey girl," he said, "did you really mean it when you said
the last game was very nearly even?"

For a moment she did not answer, and then she looked at him quite
frankly. "Yes," she said; "I really meant it. I tell you quite
honestly that I had meant to punish you; I had meant to flirt with
you--teach you a lesson--and give you a fall. I thought you wanted
it. . . . And then. . . ."

"Yes," said Vane eagerly. . . . "What then?"

"Why--I think I changed my mind," said the girl. "I didn't know you
were such a dear. . . . I'm sorry," she added after a moment.

"But why be sorry?" he cried. "It's just the most wonderful thing in
the world. I did deserve it--I've had the fall. . . . And oh! my
dear, to think you're crashed as well. . . . Or at any rate slid a
bit." He corrected himself with a smile.

But there was no answering smile on the girl's face. She just stared
out of the window, and then with a sort of explosive violence she