“No, I—” She flushed suddenly. To deny, was unworthy of her. “Yes, I remember.”
“It is true, remember what I said. I take not one word of it back. It is true, and will remain true all my life.”
“My friend—will be wondering—”
“Joan, be a little merciful.”
And now for the first time he noticed that she was not dressed as he had seen her last. There was a suggestion of wealth, of ample means about her appearance. Clothes were the last thing that Hugh thought of, or noticed. Yet gradually Joan’s clothes began to thrust themselves on his notice. She was well dressed, and the stylish and becoming clothes heightened her beauty, if possible.
“Joan, I have a confession to make.”
She bent her head.
“I couldn’t act unfairly or deal in an underhand way with you.”
“I thought differently!” she said bitterly.
“I remembered my promise made to you at General Bartholomew’s, yet I came to London in the hope of seeing you, that was all that brought me here. I would not have spoken to you if you had not spoken to me first. I only wanted just to see you. I wonder,” he went on, “that I have not been arrested as a suspicious character, as I have been loitering about General Bartholomew’s house for days, but I never saw you, Joan!”