It was most odd, but--there was something in the still air that had the sense of Joan in it.
After a moment, during which his very soul asked for a sight of her, he stumped into the living room and rang the bell impatiently.
The imperturbable Judson appeared at once, his eyebrows slightly raised.
"Has any one been here while I've been away ?" asked Martin.
"No, sir.

No one except Miss Capper, who's been reading on the stoop." "You're quite sure ?" "You never can be quite sure about anything in this life, sir, but I saw no one." "Oh," said Martin.

"All right, then." But when he was alone, he stood again, listening and looking.

There was nothing of Joan in the room.

A mixture of honeysuckle and tobacco and the aroma of cooking that had slipped through the swing door into the the kitchen.