d pleaded for a meeting. She felt hot with shame
of herself that she had ever stooped to ask for it. She might have
guessed.

A week had passed since Slotman's visit, and since she had with her own
hands posted the letter to Hugh Alston. A week of waiting, and nothing
had come of it! This morning she glanced through the letters. Her eyes
had lost their old eagerness; she no longer expected anything.

As usual, there was nothing from "Him," but there was one for her in a
handwriting that she knew only too well. She touched it as if it were
some foul thing. She was in two minds whether to open and read it, or
merely return it unopened and addressed to Philip Slotman, Esq.,
Gracebury, London, E.C. But she was a woman. And it takes a considerable
amount of strength of will to return unopened and unread a letter to its
sender, especially if one is a woman.

What might not that letter contain? Apology--retraction, sorrow for the
past, or further insolent demands, veiled threats, and a repetition of
proposals refused with scorn and contempt--which was it? Who can tell by
the mere appearance of a sealed envelope and the impress of a postmark?

Joan put the letter into her pocket. She would debate in her mind
whether she would read it or no.

"A letter from Connie, dear," said Helen. "She is coming over this
afternoon and bringing Ellice Brand with her. Joan, it is a week or more
since Johnny was here."

"Yes, about a week I think," said Joan indifferently. She was thinking
meanwhile of the letter in her pocket.

Helen looked at her. She wanted to put questions; but, being a sensible
woman, she did not. She had a great affection for Johnny. What woman
could avoid having an affection and a regard for him? He was one of
those fine, clean things that men and women, too, must like if they are
themselves possessed of decency and appreciation of the good.

Yes, she was fond of Johnny, and she had grown very fond of late of this
girl. She looked under the somewhat cold surface, and she recognised a
warm, a tender and a loving nature, that had been suppressed for lack of
something on which to lavish that wealth of tenderness that she held
stored up in her heart.

Quite what part Hugh Alston had played in the life of Joan, Helen did
not know. But she hoped for Johnny. She wanted to see these two come
together. She was not above worldly considerations, for few good women
are. It would be a fine thing for Johnny, with his straite