man with a strong, massive face. It would have been ugly but for the
deep, flashing eyes. There was tenderness and humour in them.

"We are next floor neighbours," he said. "My name's Phillips."

Joan thanked him. As he held the door open for her their hands
accidentally touched. Joan wished him good-night and went up the stairs.
There was no light in her room: only the faint reflection of the street
lamp outside.

She could still see him: the boyish smile. And his voice that had sent
her tears back again as if at the word of command.

She hoped he had not seen them. What a little fool she was.

A little laugh escaped her.




CHAPTER VI


One day Joan, lunching at the club, met Madge Singleton.

"I've had such a funny letter from Flossie," said Joan, "begging me
almost with tears in her ink to come to her on Sunday evening to meet a
'gentleman friend' of hers, as she calls him, and give her my opinion of
him. What on earth is she up to?"