But Lawrence was not yet living in London. He told her this as if it were the apology for his visit. He was here only for the Bank Holiday to make quite sure of a certain berth in Fleet Street. … Yes, he was leaving Oxford … No more work for him there after September … And Joanna must know what a sad, untidy, waste-papery sort of place London was, of a Sunday afternoon. He agreed with her that Glasgow was fifty times worse in the same circumstances. Still one felt even more left to oneself in London. At least he did. So he had taken a walk through the Green Park; and being then so near, had thought to look her up – Carl had given him the address – but he had hardly expected to find her in town.

He told her that outside this two days’ run to London, he was not having a holiday this year.

She had begun to pour tea from the Empire coffee-pot into one of the mauve and gilt cups, but now she paused with questioning eyes upon him. All the time she had been wondering obscurely wherein he was changed. It seemed that Oxford had done for him what she believed London had done for her. How had it come about in his case?

“You look to me as if you had just returned from a holiday,” she said with just a thread of vexation in her voice. “I never saw you look better.” And she went on with her tea-making.

“It’s more than I can say of you,” he replied quietly.

Taken off her guard, Joanna looked up quickly and had to meet his scrutiny. To her dismay she felt the blood rise hot in her face.

“Ι expect I need my holiday,” she said, handing the cup to him less deftly than was her wont. He had moved from his seat to take it, and now stood close by her, looking down at her.

“But you needn’t be so disagreeable about it,” she added harshly, fighting him off.

Though she was glad then to see him turn away in distress, it was she that presently harked back to the subject.

“What makes you say I look such a fright?” she could not resist questioning him.

Lawrence protested that he had said no such thing.

“It sounded like that.”

“No. You look …” The young man frowned and hesitated. But now Joanna had seen from his eyes that he found her beautiful.

“Yes? Go on,” she insisted.

“Last night at the Coliseum, I saw a juggler,” he began. “He was keeping a dozen plates in the air at once. But it was his face I watched. He wasn’t exactly anxious. He knew his job brilliantly. Still it was taking him all his time and every ounce of his strength to do it and keep a calm front.”

Joanna waited. But it seemed that Lawrence was finished.