“I had no idea it was so late! I am going out to lunch. Now you will come and see me, won’t you? Come to-morrow evening. I live at 40 Aberdare Mansions, Marylebone Road. By the way, do you still sing?”
“I had forgotten there was such a thing as song in the world,” said Joyce sadly.
“Well, you ’ll remember it to-morrow evening,” said Yvonne. “I have an idea. Au revoir then.”
“God bless you,” said Joyce, shaking hands with her.
She nodded brightly, and tripped away up the path. Joyce watched her dainty figure until it was out of sight, and then he wandered aimlessly through the Park, thinking of the past hour. And, for a short while, some of the contamination of the gaol seemed to be wiped away.
CHAPTER II—YVONNE
That evening Yvonne was standing by the door of a concert-hall, as her friend and fellow-artist Vandeleur adjusted a red wrap round her shoulders. He was a burly, pudding-faced Irishman with twinkling dark blue eyes and a persuasive manner. His fingers lingered about the wrap longer than was necessary.
“Good-bye,” said Yvonne, “and thank you.” She was feeling a little upset. Vandeleur, a popular favourite, had preceded her on the programme, and his song had been met with rapturous applause.