“What ideas?”
“Of how I behave in a corner with Jelalludin or Gavan Huntley.”
“I haven’t suggested anything.”
“You’ve suggested everything. Do you think I collect stray kisses like Sydney Sheldrick? Do you think I’m a dirty little—little—cocotte like Hetty Reinhart?”
“Joan!”
“Well,” said Joan savagely, and said no more.
Peter came to the defence of Hetty belatedly. “How can you say such things of Hetty?” he asked. “What can you know about her?”
“Pah! I can smell what she is across a room. Do you think I’m an absolute young fool, Peter?”
“You’ve got no right, Joan——”
“Why argue, Peter, why argue? When things are plain. Can’t you go your own way, Peter”—Joan was annoyed to find suddenly that she was weeping. Tears were running down her face. But the road was dark, and perhaps if she gave no sign Peter would not see. “You go your own way, Peter, go your own way, and let me go mine.”