They
seemed to be seeking something.
One evening, on her way home from a theatre, she met Flossie. "Can't
stop now," said Flossie, who was hurrying. "But I want to see you: most
particular. Was going to look you up. Will you be at home to-morrow
afternoon at tea-time?"
There was a distinct challenge in Flossie's eye as she asked the
question. Joan felt herself flush, and thought a moment.
"Yes," she answered. "Will you be coming alone?"
"That's the idea," answered Flossie; "a heart to heart talk between you
and me, and nobody else. Half-past four. Don't forget."
Joan walked on slowly. She had the worried feeling with which, once or
twice, when a schoolgirl, she had crawled up the stairs to bed after the
head mistress had informed her that she would see her in her private room
at eleven o'clock the next morning, leaving her to guess what about. It
occurred to her, in Trafalgar Square, that she had promised to take tea
with the Greysons the next afternoon, to meet some big pot from America.
She would have to get out of that. She felt it wouldn't do to put off
Flossie.
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