"But Sir Piers—the memory of his wishes—his memory!" almost shrieked Mrs. Willoughby.
"His memory will survive it, Lesbia. Besides, as long as he was himself, you know, he didn't mind her doing war-work. He quite understood the necessity, and was proud of her."
"But, my dear, wrong-headed creature, when she so deliberately and heartlessly went against his wishes at the last?"
"Well," said Joanna placidly, "she won't be doing that now, so she can go on working with a clear conscience."
"Joanna," said Mrs. Willoughby, with an air of discovery, "upon my word, I don't understand you."
Nevertheless, she devoted the major half of the afternoon to the object of her perplexity.
"One word, dearest, I must say," she declared at the end of an hour that, to Joanna's thinking, held already more than a sufficiency of words. "Have you considered what is happening to that delightful lad?"
"Never," said Joanna unhesitatingly. "And who on earth are you talking about, Lesbia?"
"That precious creature, Johnnie. Too guileless for words, my dear; but if there's one thing I do understand, inside out and upside down, it's men. I should have made a perfect mother—young things adore me. Look at my sweet Puffles! But I'm miserable about John, who really has a perfect passion for me, dear lad. Lewis always says that all the boys of his regiment go through it, just like measles."
Joanna, who had heard this quotation before, ruthlessly disregarded it.