"The book is out," she said. "Both books are out. They are in great
demand. I have no more to say."

The Library door opened, and a young man came in. Joan was still too young
to wish for scenes in public. She must give up the battle for to-day.
When, however, she saw who it was she blushed. It was young Lord St. Leath
--Johnny St. Leath, as he was known to his familiars, who were many and of
all sorts and conditions. Joan hated herself for blushing, especially
before the odious Miss Milton, but there was a reason. One day in last
October after morning service Joan and her mother had waited in the
Cloisters to avoid a shower of rain. St. Leath had also waited and very
pleasantly had talked to them both. There was nothing very alarming in
this, but as the rain cleared and Mrs. Brandon had moved forward across
the Green, he had suddenly, with a confusion that had seemed to her
charming, asked Joan whether one day they mightn't meet again. He had
given her one look straight in the eyes, tried to say something more,
failed, and turned away down the Cloisters.

Joan had never before been asked by any young man to meet him again. She
had told herself that this was nothing but the merest, most obvious
politeness; nevertheless the look that he had given her remained.

Now, as she saw him advancing towards her, there was the thought, was it
not on that very morning that her new courage and self-confidence had come
to her? The thought was so absurd that she flung it at Miss Milton. But
the blush remained.

Johnny was an ungainly young man, with a red face, freckles, a large
mouth, and a bull-terrier--a conventional British type, I suppose, saved,