lips? Martin must have friends, of course. She had hers--Gilbert and
Hosack and the others, if they could be called friends. But why a
girl with a white face and red lips and hair that came out of a
bottle? That didn't sound much like Martin.

All these thoughts ran through Joan's mind as she walked about the
drawing-room with its open windows, in the first hour of the
morning, sending out an S. O. S. to Martin. She ought to be in bed
and asleep--not thinking and going over everything as if she were a
woman. She wasn't a woman yet, and could only be a kid once. It was
too bad of Alice to try and force her to take things seriously so
soon. Seriousness was for older people, and even then something to
avoid if possible. And as for Gilbert--well, she didn't for one
instant deny the fact that it was rather exciting and exhilarating
for him to be in love with her, although she was awfully sorry for
Alice. She had done nothing to encourage him, and it was really a
matter of absolute indifference to her whether he loved her or not,
so long as he was at hand to take her about. And she didn't intend
to encourage him, either. Love meant ties and responsibility--Alice
proved that clearly enough. There was plenty of time for love. Let
her flit first. Let her remain young as long as she could, careless
and care-free. The fact that she was married was just an accident,
an item in her adventure. It didn't make her less young to be
married, and she didn't see why it should. Martin understood, and
that was why it was so far-fetched of Alice to suggest that her
attitude could turn Martin's armor into broadcloth, and hint at his
having ceased to be a knight because he had been seen with a girl--
never mind whether her face was white and her lips red, and her hair
too golden.