Embrance sat with both arms on the table; the translation got no farther. Her heart was full of love for her friend, and yet—she had her fair share of common sense—she could not but see that Joan was thoroughly unfit for her present mode of life. She was just one of those girls who would be happiest in a home of her own. Here, for once, Embrance found herself cordially agreeing with Emily Fulloch, who was as old-fashioned in her notions as it was possible for a narrow-minded spinster to be.
Perhaps a “brain-wave” of sympathy passed from one friend to another at that moment, for Joan looked up from her book:
“Darling, I think you will like Horace better than Mr. Brownhill, though he is not so good-looking. I hope you will!”
“I will try,” said Embrance, jumping up to kiss Joan; “I will try my hardest, for your sake.”
Joan blushed, and Embrance began talking of other matters.
A week later, Mrs. Rakely (a friend of the Fullochs) came to London. She stayed at an hotel close by, and was glad of Joan’s company, as she wished to get through as much sight-seeing as she conveniently—or inconveniently—could in the space of a fortnight.
One Saturday afternoon Embrance had come home early (Joan had gone to luncheon with Mrs. Rakely); she was tired, it had been a warm, rainy day; her boots were muddy and her dress was damp. The armchair by the fire looked very tempting; she sat down, and in a few seconds was fast asleep, dreaming of a magnificent abode in New Zealand, where Joan, in a white satin gown and a diamond necklace, was blissfully wedded to an emperor with flowing ringlets and bright grey eyes. The emperor had very bright eyes, indeed, and a habit of knocking on the ground with his sceptre; he was also afflicted with a curious kind of cough that did not sound natural—and yet it was natural, appallingly so. With a start and a jerk, Embrance sat up in her chair wide awake, and met the gaze of a real pair of grey eyes (brimming over with fun) that belonged to a gentleman, who stood, hat in hand, at the open door.
“I really apologise humbly,” he said, without venturing to approach; “but I was told to walk up, and I knocked several times, and someone said ‘Come in.’”
Embrance had recovered her presence of mind. “Please do come in,” she said. “I am very sorry that I was asleep; but I was so tired. I think you are Mr. Meade?”
“That is my name,” said the visitor, looking across the room from the smoky fire to the rows of books with a quick glance; “and I have the pleasure of speaking to Miss Clemon.”