said, "my Joan!"

She bent her head.

"If you will take me--as I am, not asking for more than I can give,
then--then I will come to you, if you will have it so. But oh, my dear,
you are worth more than this, far more than this!"

He lifted her hand and held it to his lips, the only embrace that in his
humility he dare offer her. And even while she felt his lips upon her
hand, there came back to her memory eyes that glowed with love and
passion, a deep voice that shook with feeling--

_("I glory in it, and take not one word of it back!")_

CHAPTER XXV

IN THE MIRE

Women, chattering over their tea in the lounge of the Empire Hotel,
followed the tall restless young man with their eyes. He was worth
looking at, so big and fine, and bronzed, and so worried, so
anxious-looking, poor fellow.

Four o'clock, a quarter past, half past. She would not come. Of course
she would not come; he had offended past all forgiveness in taking so
long to reply to her appeal. Hugh Alston cursed the unlucky star that he
must have been born under.

Two middle-aged women, seated at a small table, taking their tea after
strenuous shopping at the sales, watched him and discussed him frankly.

"Evidently here to meet someone!"

"And she hasn't come!"

"You can see how disappointed he looks, poor fellow."

"Too bad of her!"

"My dear, what some men can see in some women..."

"And a girl who would keep a man like that waiting deserves to lose
him."

"I hope she does. See, he's going now. I hope she comes later and is
disappointed."

"Oh no, I think that must be she. What a handsome girl, but how cold and
proud looking!"

She had come, even as he was giving up in despair. As he turned to
leave, she came, and they met face to face.

The two amiable busybodies sipped their tea and watched.

"My dear, she didn't even offer him her hand--such a cold and stately
bow. They can't be lovers, after all!"

"I don't think I ever saw a more lovely girl!"

"But icily cold. That pink chiffon I bought at Robinson's will make up
into a charming evening dress for Irene, don't you think?"

"I am afraid I am late," Joan said, and her voice was clear and cold,
expressionless as a voice could be.

"Surely I deserve that at least, after the unforgivable delay in
answering your letter."

"Yes," she said, "you--you were a long time answering." And suddenly she
realised what that delay had meant.

Yesterday, if his answer had come,