"I do not consider it is either very clever or very considerate," she
said in a low voice, intended for him alone.

"I am sorry, but--but I couldn't let you go yet. You--you don't
understand, Joan!" he stammered.

She shrugged her shoulders; she went with them because she must. She
could not create a scene, but she would take her revenge. She promised
herself that, and she did. She scarcely spoke a word during the
luncheon. She ate nothing; she looked about her with an air of
indifference. Twice she deliberately yawned behind her hand, hoping that
he would notice; and he did, and it hurt him cruelly, as she hoped it
might.

But she kept the worst sting for the last.

"Please," she said to the waiter, "make out the bills separately--mine
and this lady's together, and the gentleman's by itself."

"Joan!" he said, as the waiter went his way, and his voice was shocked
and hurt.

"Oh really, you could hardly expect that I would wish you to spend any
of your--eight thousand a year on me!"

Hugh flushed. He bent his head. His eight thousand a year that once he
had held out as a bait to her, and yet, Heaven knew, he had not meant it
so. He had only meant to be frank with her.