The tea was brought; they sat and discussed their plans. Cicely had followed her sister to London, utterly unable to live any longer in a place so full of horrible memories. They had a little money—Cicely, almost enough to live on, but she wanted work. Joan listened, but for her part she had little to say. Only as the clock drew near seven o'clock she grew restless. Her attention wandered. She looked often towards the window.
"You'll stay the night here anyhow, sister?" she said at last.
"Why, I'd counted on it," Cicely admitted.
"Well, that's settled then. This is mostly the time I go out. Are you going with me, or will you rest a bit?"
Cicely rose up briskly.
"I'll come along," she said. "A walk will do me good. The air's so cruel close up here."
Joan hesitated.
"I'm a fast walker," she said, "and I go far."
But Cicely, who divined something of the truth, hesitated no longer, not even for a second.
"I will come," she said.