Mary Stopperton did not know the name of the preacher. It was quite
common for chance substitutes to officiate there, especially in the
evening. Joan had insisted on her acceptance of a shilling, and had made
a note of her address, feeling instinctively that the little old woman
would "come in useful" from a journalistic point of view.
Shaking hands with her, she had turned eastward, intending to walk to
Sloane Square and there take the bus. At the corner of Oakley Street she
overtook him. He was evidently a stranger to the neighbourhood, and was
peering up through his glasses to see the name of the street; and Joan
caught sight of his face beneath a gas lamp.
And suddenly it came to her that it was a face she knew. In the dim-lit
church she had not seen him clearly. He was still peering upward. Joan
stole another glance. Yes, she had met him somewhere. He was very
changed, quite different, but she was sure of it. It was a long time
ago. She must have been quite a child.
CHAPTER II
One of Joan's earliest recollections was the picture of herself standing
before the high cheval glass in her mother's dressing-room.
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