Johnny was driven by the impulse of his indignation down the hill. Joan,
rather breathlessly, followed him.

"I say!" said Johnny. "Did you ever hear of such a woman! She ought to be
poisoned. She ought indeed. No, poisoning's too good for her. Hung, drawn
and quartered. That's what she ought to be. She'll get into trouble over
that."

"Oh no," said Joan. "Please, Lord St. Leath, don't say any more about it.
She has a difficult time, I expect, everybody wanting the same books.
After all a promise is a promise."

"But she'd promised your mother----"

"No, she never really did. She always said that it would be in in a day or
two. She never properly promised. I expect we'd have had it next."

"The snob, the rotten snob!" Johnny paused and raised his stick. "I hate
women like that. No, she's not doing her job properly. She oughtn't to be
there."

So swift had been their descent that they arrived in a moment at the
market.

Because to-day was market-day there was a fine noise, confusion and
splendour--carts rattling in and out, sheep and cows driven hither and
thither, the wooden stalls bright with flowers and vegetables, the dim
arcades looming behind the square filled with mysterious riches. They
could not talk very much here, and Joan was glad. She was too deeply