But there ran as usual on the heels of Joanna’s fantasy the necessity for concrete action. Bob was leaving the day after to-morrow. Her first notion had been neither to see him nor to answer any letter he might write, but to wait silently through the years. But suppose he neither came nor wrote? Then he would never know of her heroic decision – a thing not to be contemplated. No, she must see him that night before she slept. But how? If she called at the Boyd’s house she was unlikely to see him alone.

This small but practical difficulty, with its demand on resource, was refreshing; and even before her plan was complete, hope danced in Joanna’s veins once more. Perhaps after all she would not have to wait for years! Voluptuously she saw herself begging for Bob’s forgiveness. She wallowed beforehand in their mutual abasement which was to end with fresh avowals and herself enthroned.

So she descended from her beech-grown height and made for town again, tucking her wet hair up under the woollen cap that was heavy with rain.

In the tram-car a young man with a small moustache stared persistently at her, and when she alighted he followed her with his eyes as long as he could. This was by no means displeasing to Joanna, but she told herself how glad she was that Bob had no moustache.

At a stationer’s she bought notepaper and a pencil, and without pausing, scribbled this note to Bob: –

“Come out and see me for a minute. I do want to speak to you. I’m waiting in the close next door. – Joanna.”

Having addressed it, she walked quivering towards High Kelvin Place; and the first likely errand boy that passed was waylaid by her and told how he might earn a sixpence if he were clever. Several times he had to repeat his instructions before Joanna would let him go.

And the plan worked smoothly! The messenger had scarcely claimed his money when Bob stepped bareheaded out of the Boyds’ house. He looked in his odd blind way to one side and another before he discovered Joanna, and watching him she felt faint with excitement.

“I say, you are wet, Joanna!” was his first remark when they had met. Her skirts dripped on the stone flags, and Bob touched her soaked sleeve timidly. Rings of hair, curled and darkened by the rain, lay close against her cheeks. He found her freshened face splendid.

“Where on earth have you been? How did you manage to send me this?” And he flicked the note which was still in his hand.