Joan smiled to herself as she read it. What did Falk think her power was?
Why, her mother and father had never listened to her for a single moment,
nor had he, Falk, when he had been at home. She had never counted at all--
to any one save Johnny. She put down the letter and tried to lose herself
in the happy country of her own love, but she could not. Her honesty
prevented her; its silence was now oppressive and heavy-weighted. Where
could her mother be? And dinner already half an hour late in that so
utterly punctual house! What had Falk meant about mother going to London?
Of course she would not go to London--at any rate without father. How
could Falk imagine such a thing? More than an hour passed.
She began to walk about the room, wondering what she should do about the
dinner. She must give up the Sampsons, and she was very hungry. She had
had no tea at the Flower Show and very little luncheon.
She was about to go and speak to Gladys when she heard the hall door open.
It closed. Something--some unexpressed fear or foreboding--kept her where
she was. Steps were in the hall, but they were not her father's; he always
moved with determined stride to his study or the stairs.
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