She stood before him, radiant in her beauty, her happiness like an aura about her.
"Joan," he whispered again, and--how it happened who shall say ?--in a second she was within his arms, her heart throbbing against his; her hands stole about his shoulders; their lips were pressed together.
"Harry! Oh, Harry!" she murmured.

Then very gently she pushed him from her.

She shook her head with a wistful little smile.
"I didn't mean you to do that," she said in self-reproach, "until after supper." In the hall Sir Chichester threw down the last of the newspapers in a rage.

"Not a word! Not one single miserable little word! I don't ask much, goodness knows, but----" and his voice went up in an angry incredulity.

"Not one word! And I thought the _Harpoon_ was such a good paper too!" Sir Chichester sprang to his feet.