“Thank Heaven,” Joan thought, “thank Heaven that he is here.”
For the first time Hugh Alston knocked for admission on the Starden door. A score of times he had asked himself, “Shall I go?” And he could find no answer. He had come at last.
“What can he want? I did not know he was here in Starden. I didn’t even know that he knew where Joan was. I don’t understand this business at all,” Helen was thinking.
A servant shewed him in. Joan shook hands with him. Helen did so, under an air of graciousness which hid a cold hostility. What was this man doing here? If he was nothing to Joan, and Joan was nothing to him, why did he come? And how could he be anything to Joan when she was to marry Johnny?
So this was her home! A fit setting for her loveliness, and yet he knew of a fitter, of another home where she could shine to even greater advantage. They talked of commonplace things, hiding their feelings behind words, waiting, Joan and Hugh, till Helen should leave them. But Helen lingered with less than her usual tact, lingered with a mind filled with vague suspicions, wondering why Johnny had not come.
Sitting near the window she could see the drive, and presently a young girl on an old bicycle coming up it. Helen stared.
“Why, here is Ellice Brand,” she said, and fears took possession of her. There was something wrong! Johnny was ill, or had met with an accident. Ellice had ridden over to tell them.
“I’ll go and see her, Joan,” she said, and so at last was gone.
Hugh closed the door after her.
“You’ve been anxious?” he said briefly.