n in front of Vane, and as she came near the door he
pushed forward a little so that he came in full view. For the moment
he thought she was going to pass without seeing him, and then their
eyes met. She paused and faltered, and then swinging round sank
gracefully to the floor in the approved style of curtsey to show she
had finished.

The spectators clamoured wildly for an encore, but she rose and came
straight up to Vane.

"Where have you been?" she said.

"Unconscious in hospital for ten days," he answered grimly. "I went
down in the 'Connaught.' . . . May I congratulate you on your
delightful performance?"

For a second or two he thought she was going to faint, and
instinctively he put out his arm to hold her. Then the colour came
back to her face again, and she put her arm through his.

"I want something to eat. Take me, please. . . . No, no, my dear
people, no more," as a throng of guests came round her. "I require
food."

Her hand on his arm pushed Vane forward and obediently he led her
across the ballroom.

"If there's any champagne get me a glass," she said, sitting down at a
table. "And a sandwich. . . ."

Obediently Vane fetched what she desired; then he sat down opposite her.

"The fortnight is up," he said quietly. "I have come for my answer."

"Did you get my letters?" she asked slowly.

"Both. When I came to this morning. And I wasn't going to be called a
fool for nothing, my lady--so I got up and came to look for you. What
of the excellent Baxter? Is the date for your wedding fixed?"

She looked at him in silence for a moment, and then she began to laugh.
"The ceremony in church takes place on his return from France in a
week's time."

"Oh! no, it doesn't," said Vane grimly. "However, we will let that
pass. May I ask if your entertainment to-night was indicative of the
joy you feel at the prospect?"

She started to laugh again, and there was an ugly sound in it. A woman
at the next table was looking at her curiously.

"Stop that, Joan," he said in a low, insistent voice. "For God's sake,
pull yourself together. . . ."

She stopped at once, and only the ceaseless twisting of her
handkerchief between her fingers betrayed her.

"I suppose it wouldn't do to go into a fit of high strikes," she said
in a voice she strove vainly to keep steady. "The Mainwarings might
think it was their champagne--or the early symptoms of 'flu--or
unrequited love. . . . And they are so