He took a step nearer to her.
"Joan!" he whispered; and at this, his first use of her Christian name, her face flowered like a rose.
"Thank you!" she said softly.

"Oh, thank you!" Harry Luttrell looked over his shoulder.

They had the room to themselves, so long as they did not raise their voices.
"Joan," he began with a little falter in his voice.

Could he have pleaded better in a thousand fine speeches, he who had seen his men wither about him on the Somme, than by that little timorous quaver in his voice?
"Joan, I have something to ask of you to-night.

I meant to ask it during a dance, when you couldn't run away.