A spot of anger, indeed, seemed to burn in Joan's cheeks.
They hardly spoke at all.
Half an hour later, he came face to face with Joan in a corridor.
"I have been looking for you for a long while," she cried in a quick, agitated voice.

"Are you free for this dance ?" "Yes." Martin Hillyard lied without compunction.
"Then will you take me into the garden ?" He found a couple of chairs in a corner of the terrace out of the hearing of the rest.
"We shall be quiet here," he said.

He hoped that she would disclose the difficulty which had risen between herself and Harry, and seek his counsel as Harry's friend.

It might be one of the little trifling discords which love magnifies until they blot out the skies and drape the earth in temporary mourning.

But Joan began at once nervously upon a different topic.
"You made a charge against Mario Escobar the other day.