"Nonsense, dear! he'll be only too pleased to, especially if we ask
him--and now it's war-time I think we might. Bygones are bygones."

Joan sighed deeply. It was evident she meant her mother to notice it.

"Surely you've got over that little affair? You didn't seem to mind at
the time. Did you now, dear?"

"What could I do with you all against me?" Joan's face wore an expression
of aggrieved reminiscence.

"We thought it for your good, Joan. He was only a music-teacher and had
no means at all."

"He was getting on splendidly, though. You forget that he had been
appointed conductor of a big orchestra to tour the provinces--when the
War came."

"Yes, but the War put a complete end to that and to all his prospects. A
nice time you'd have had to wait," said Maud.

"It's over now, so what's the good of talking about it? I daresay he's
forgotten all about me long ago." Joan sighed again and helped herself to
tea.

Half an hour later Clara Whigham called up Joan on the telephone. The
family was accustomed to these conversations, which were sometimes of
long duration. The two girls were intimate. It was through Clara that
Joan had taken piano lessons at the Royal School of Music from Jack
Leclerc.