gently to the door, evidently anxious to escape observation. Her heart
was in her mouth, but she sat on stonily, determined that he should not
know she had seen him.

At the door he encountered Mrs. Dobson.

"So sorry, I must run, Mrs. Dobson," he said, holding out his hand.

"Oh, I am sorry, Mr.--er--Captain Leclerc. Can't you wait till the end?
Joan will be so disappointed not to see you."

"Oh, thank you. The fact is--" Leclerc stopped, looking a little
embarrassed. But Mrs. Dobson did not notice this and ran on--

"And what did you think of the concert, Mr.--er--Captain Leclerc?"

The musician's professional conscience forbade a complimentary reply.

"It was very bad," he said, "except the old Frenchman. That woman had no
business to sing in public, and as for those youths who call themselves
artists--why aren't they in the trenches?" And hastily touching Mrs.
Dobson's hand, he slipped away: the expression in her rubicund face was
pained as she gazed after him.

* * * * *

After the concert had come to an end and the guests had gradually
dispersed, Lady Whigham and Mrs. Dobson counted up the money and
discussed how much each performer should receive. This _tete-a-tete_
with Lady Whigham was what Mrs. Dobson most enjoyed the whole afternoon.