"I told Jack," she said, "not to let any one into the flat till three o'clock. I have an appointment then I ought to keep, but that still gives us nearly two hours. I will send Jack across to Stewart's to fetch us some lunch, and we'll have it in here. What would you like, my Neil?"
"Anything but eggs and bacon," I said, getting out another cigarette.
She jumped up with a laugh, and, after striking me a match, went out into the passage, leaving the door open. I heard her call the page-boy and give him some instructions, and then she came back into the room, her eyes dancing with happiness and excitement.
"Isn't this splendid!" she exclaimed. "Only this morning I was utterly miserable wondering if you were dead, and here we are having lunch together just like the old days in Chelsea."
"Except for your hair, Joyce," I said. "Don't you remember how it was always getting in your eyes?"
"Oh, that!" she cried; "that's easily altered."
She put up her hands, and hastily pulled out two or three hairpins. Then she shook her head, and in a moment a bronze mane was rippling down over her shoulders exactly as it used to in the old days.
"I wish I could do something like that," I said ruefully. "I'm afraid my changes are more permanent."
Joyce came up and thrust her arm into mine. "My poor dear," she said, pressing it to her. "Never mind; you look splendid as you are."
"Won't your boy think there's something odd in our lunching together like this?" I asked. "He seems a pretty acute sort of youth."