But she was evidently in earnest; and Joan accepted willingly.

"Clorinda" grew younger, more self-assertive; on the whole more human.

But still so eminently "sane" and reasonable.
"We must not forget that she is quite a respectable lady, connected--according to her own account--with the higher political circles," Joan's editor would insist, with a laugh.
Miss Greyson, working in the adjoining room, would raise her head and listen.

She loved to hear him laugh.
"It's absurd," Flossie told her one morning, as having met by chance they were walking home together along the Embankment.

"You're not 'Clorinda'; you ought to be writing letters to her, not from her, waking her up, telling her to come off her perch, and find out what the earth feels like.