The next few days were very busy ones for Joanna. She had little time to herself as she helped her mother prepare for the dress party, fidgeted through fittings for her new dress, and spent long hours listening to Selina’s laments. The latter’s mother had decreed that she could not attend the Rowntrees’ party, being only seventeen and not nearly out. Selina did not take the decision well. In fact, she was outraged, and took Joanna’s every spare moment to express her emotion. By the day of the party, Joanna was heartily sick of the subject. She looked forward to the evening not only as a source of amusement, but also as an end to Selina’s complaining.
As she dressed that evening, Joanna thought of Peter and his wife, who perforce had been invited. Somewhat to her surprise, she felt no great emotion at the idea of seeing them. What was wrong with her? As she fastened a silver bangle on her wrist, a gift from her mother, she thought of the third member of that household. Sir Rollin Denby would also be present tonight; he had promised to come. A memory of his wild race with Jonathan Erland and the jump that ended it floated through Joanna’s thoughts, and she smiled slightly. It would be a little exciting to see Sir Rollin again. Her cheeks flushed becomingly.
Joanna stood up and turned before the long mirror above her dressing table. The new dress was perfect: the palest jonquil muslin, with tiny puffed sleeves and one long flounce at the hem. Trimmed with deeper yellow ribbons, it glowed against her dark brown hair and gave her dark eyes a brighter sparkle. Her mother had also bought her new kid slippers to match, as well as the bracelet, and Joanna had done her hair in a mass of ringlets tied with yellow ribbons. Altogether, she had never felt so elegant and grown-up as she did in this moment. The girl looking back from the mirror might be a London miss, she thought, ready for an outing at Vauxhall or Almack’s. Her reflection smiled, cherry-red lips curving upward. Surely tonight would be a night to remember. And all her vows of eternal seclusion forgotten, Joanna skipped down the stairs to meet her mother in the drawing room.
Mrs. Rowntree awaited her there, also looking very fine. She wore a gown of deep red and her grandmother’s ruby necklace. Her dark hair was twisted in a knot on the top of her head with curls falling over her ears. She might have been Joanna’s sister rather than her mother, and she looked nearly as excited as the girl. The Rowntrees seldom entertained, Mr. Rowntree being utterly uninterested in such frivolity, and his wife had resigned herself to that fact. But before her marriage, she had been extremely fond of parties and dancing, and her eyes were bright with anticipation now.
“Perfect, Joanna,” she said as her daughter entered. “The dress is lovely.”
Joanna pirouetted before her. “Oh, I do like it,” she replied.
Her mother nodded, smiling, but before she could speak again, the door opened and Mr. Rowntree came in. He looked rather awkward and uncomfortable in his evening dress. His neckcloth seemed too tight for him and his shirt points too high, though neither would have drawn a second disdainful look from one truly interested in fashion.
“Emma, this is intolerable,” he said, running a finger around his neck. “Why must I make a spectacle of myself in this ridiculous way? I have work to do, important work, and you know I am no good at these occasions.”
His wife smiled again. “If you want to be on good terms with your neighbors, George, you must see them occasionally.”
Mr. Rowntree sighed miserably and went to sit at his table in the corner. “I am too uncomfortable to argue the point,” he said, putting his head on his hands. “Let them come.”
Mrs. Rowntree exchanged an amused look with her daughter.
“Oh, but you look splendid, Papa,” said Joanna coaxingly, “and Gerald is riding up for the evening. You will be able to talk with him and his friends.” Mrs. Rowntree had recruited several of the Oxford students to fill out her numbers.
Mr. Rowntree raised his head and turned to answer his daughter, but paused with his mouth open and simply stared at her for some moments.
After a while, Joanna moved nervously. “What is wrong, Papa?”
He recovered himself, but shook his head as if mystified. “You are different, Joanna. You are grown-up, I suppose.” This idea seemed to both astonish and displease him. Joanna looked to her mother.
“She looks lovely, does she not, George?” said Mrs. Rowntree.
The man continued to look at his daughter, frowning, and his wife had to repeat the question before he heard her. “Eh?” He started. “What? Oh, so she does. Lovely.” His brow cleared, and he added warmly, “You are beautiful, Joanna. I can’t think why I haven’t noticed before now. You’re the image of your mother when I met her. You’ll be a credit to us both tonight, though I’m sure I’d little to do with it.” He ran a distracted hand through his sparse brown hair and smiled. His thin, rather austere face softened, and Joanna was overcome by the knowledge that her father cared for her.
“Th-thank you, Papa,” she stammered. “I shall try to be, always.”
The maid came in then to tell them that a carriage had arrived, and the family moved to the landing to receive their first guests. They were Mr. and Mrs. Grant, but Joanna greeted them in a daze, her father’s praise still ringing in her ears.
By eight thirty, their drawing room was filled, with only the Finley party yet to arrive. Joanna stood with Constance Williston in the corner of the room and looked out over it. Her brother Gerald stood opposite with her father and a group of young men, all talking at once. Her mother sat at the other end of the room with the Grants and some of the other neighbors, and another group of young people chatted further down the side where Joanna stood.
She turned to Constance, who looked cool and pretty in a gown of pale green muslin, embroidered at the waist and hem with a row of dark green leaves. “It is getting hot, isn’t it?” said Joanna, putting her hands to her glowing cheeks.
Constance started, pulling her eyes from the opposite side of the room. “What?” she asked, blushing.
Joanna repeated her remark, and Constance agreed.
“I do not see how we can dance,” continued Joanna. “We should melt in this heat.”
“It is hotter in London rooms,” said Constance absently. “Girls sometimes faint from the closeness of the air.”
“I can well believe it. I cannot imagine…” But Joanna’s imaginings were interrupted by the arrival of the Finleys and Sir Rollin, the former full of apologies for their lateness. Adrienne Finley blamed her brother in a penetrating voice. “He would not hurry. I told him that a country party is not at all like London. One may not wander in at any hour and expect a welcome. But Rollin is too used to being cosseted. Hostesses have spoiled him. They are so glad to see him enter their drawing rooms that they forgive him the most cavalier behavior.” Adrienne was glancing sharply around the room as she spoke, nodding to the people she knew and subjecting the others to close scrutiny.
Mrs. Rowntree came forward and began introductions. Most of the guests were already acquainted, but only a few had met the new Mrs. Finley. Adrienne enjoyed being the center of attention, and her voice carried throughout the room as they progressed around it. Several conversations paused. “How do you do? Yes, just married this month and arrived here soon after. A lovely neighborhood. So rustic. How do you do? Quite a romance, yes, all in the first weeks of the season. How do you do?” This went on for some time.
Joanna made an impatient gesture. “Must she talk so loudly?” she murmured with annoyance.
Constance glanced around them, but no one was near. “Perhaps she is nervous,” she suggested.
The two girls looked at Adrienne, who was telling Reverend Williston of a superb preacher she had heard at Bath. Adrienne was brilliant in emerald silk with masses of pale green ribbons and a green and gold enameled fan. “Do you truly think so?” asked Joanna skeptically.
Constance watched Adrienne move on to Mr. Townsend and begin to rally him on his flowered waistcoat, saying that it was almost as striking as one she had seen the Duke of Cumberland wear in London last season. Mr. Townsend was obviously torn between complacency and outrage. “Well, perhaps not,” agreed Constance. She smiled wryly. “I begin to wish I had not chosen to wear green,” she added. “I shall be quite overpowered.”
“Nonsense,” replied Joanna fiercely. “How can anyone like her?”
“Like whom?” drawled a lazy voice behind them. Both girls jumped guiltily and whirled. It was Sir Rollin Denby.
“I…I didn’t hear you come up,” stammered Joanna.
“Obviously,” answered Sir Rollin, “else you would not have been gossiping. It is never so amusing when one is overheard. But tell me, whom can no one like?” The wicked twinkle in his eye suggested that he already knew the answer.
Joanna could think of nothing to say; she swallowed nervously.
“We were speaking of old Mrs. Rouse,” put in Constance coolly. “It is a very sad case. She is in need of assistance, but she is so unpleasant that few people want to visit her.” Her calm blue eyes met Sir Rollin’s hazel ones with no sign of wavering. Joanna looked at her with amazed gratitude.
“Ah,” said Denby, his smile widening. “But I can hardly believe that that is true of you, Miss Williston. You are not the type who lets such superficialities guide her behavior.”
“I hope not indeed,” replied Constance, her chin high.
“And you, Miss Rowntree?” he asked mockingly. “I take it you are not quite so charitable?”
“I…I fear not,” stammered Joanna, wishing she were somewhere else.
“A pity. Harboring ill feeling can lead to such very unpleasant consequences.” There was a hint of steel in his voice, and both girls looked up, surprised. He made a gesture and smiled. “It is always best, I have found, to forgive injuries and forget them.”
Constance raised her eyebrows. “Of course.”
To Joanna’s vast relief, they were interrupted at this moment by her mother, who was endeavoring to start a few couples dancing at the end of the room. Besides Joanna and Constance, there were two other girls from some distance away, and there was a wealth of young men to partner them, thanks to the colleges. The governess from the Townsends’ had agreed to play.
“Come Joanna,” said Mrs. Rowntree, “you and Constance may start. I have young Townsend eager to dance and…”
“And I,” interrupted Sir Rollin. “Will you honor me, Miss Rowntree?”
Joanna’s mother did not look overly pleased at this development, and the girl herself felt a quiver of unease. Still, she could do nothing but accept. Soon, she was standing up with Sir Rollin for a country dance, Constance and Jack Townsend beside them, and the two other girls partnered by Jonathan Erland and one of the Oxford students.
There was some commotion behind them; then Joanna heard Adrienne Finley exclaim, “La no, Mr. Townsend, I protest I will not dance. Why, I am an old married woman now.” The gentleman made some remark that Joanna could not hear, then Adrienne continued. “Well, if you insist, but I do protest. What will Peter think?” Peter evidently thought nothing at all, for in a moment, the new couple had joined the set.
The piano began. Joanna watched her feet for the first few minutes. This was the first time she had danced in public, and though she knew the steps, she felt a little nervous. But finally, she saw that she was not going to make a mistake or tread on her partner’s foot, and she looked up. Sir Rollin smiled. “You are looking very pretty tonight, Miss Rowntree,” he remarked.
“Thank you,” answered Joanna. Sir Rollin was very splendid himself, in his dark evening coat and pale pantaloons. Indeed, he was the most elegant man in the room, and Joanna felt rather in awe of him. It was not only his magnificent appearance; he seemed in the habit of saying the most unsettling things. She searched for something to say. But Sir Rollin did not allow the pause to lengthen. When the dance movements allowed, he chatted pleasantly, gradually putting the girl at her ease.
“I have tried some of the rides you showed us,” he said later in the set, “and I enjoyed them very much. You made good choices. Yesterday, I rode to the top of Brent Hill. The view is splendid, particularly of Erland’s ruins. They are really extensive, are they not?”
“Yes. It was a very large abbey, I believe.”
“Alas for Henry VIII.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing.” He smiled slightly.
There was a pause. Feeling awkward, Joanna asked, “Do you go to Brighton soon?”
Denby’s smile seemed to stiffen. “I really cannot say, Miss Rowntree. That depends on many things.”
“You must miss your fashionable friends, here in the country.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Doubtless. But do they miss me? That is unlikely.”
Joanna did not understand his tone, and she frowned.
“Brighton, my dear Miss Rowntree, is an odd place,” he continued, “and a preeminently expensive one. Unless one has friends with a house, it is really too expensive. At least for such as I. And so, I stay, for a time.” His lips quirked. “My sister desires my company,” he finished.
Joanna felt uncomfortable and had some idea that she had made a social error, though she did not know just what it was. She was generally silent through the rest of the dance. Sir Rollin stared out over her head, as if his own thoughts were far more interesting than the gathering at which he found himself.
When the set ended, there was a pause while the young people rearranged themselves. Sir Rollin drifted off, and Jonathan Erland approached Joanna. Adrienne Finley called her husband who came a bit reluctantly into the dance.
Constance had moved toward the corner of the room, near where Mr. Rowntree and the Oxford students were talking; she looked uncomfortable. Joanna went over to her. “Do you have a partner?” she asked.
Constance started, then shook her head.
Joanna looked around. Jack Townsend was paired with one of the other girls; his father had gone back to his chair; Sir Rollin was nowhere in sight. She turned back to the group in the corner. “I know,” she said, “I shall get Gerald. You can tell him that you remember his prank with the horse.” And she started forward without hearing the slight sound Constance made.
Gerald Rowntree was standing beside his father, both listening to another young man hold forth. Like Mr. Rowntree, Gerald was tall and thin with light brown hair and blue eyes. He wore his evening dress negligently, but his face glowed with interest as he heard his friend’s argument.
“Gerald,” said Joanna, tugging at his sleeve.
He turned impatiently and looked down at her.
“Come and dance, Gerald. Here is Constance Williston; you remember.”
Her brother did not glance at the slender blond girl who winced slightly as Joanna spoke. “I have no time for such nonsense, Joanna. We are having an important discussion here.”
“This is an evening party, Gerald,” insisted Joanna, “not a meeting of Papa’s society. Come and dance. You know Mama wishes you to.”
This last point seemed to have some effect, and to Joanna’s surprise, her father turned and added his support. “Yes, go and dance a bit, Gerald,” he said. “It will please your mother.”
With a resigned shrug, Gerald gave in.
By this time, Constance was blushing furiously. Joanna led her brother up to her and repeated, “You remember Constance Williston, Gerald.”
“Of course,” said Gerald, bowing politely. But it was not at all clear that he did. He was four years older than Joanna and had been away at school for most of his life.
Constance’s flush deepened. “Come along,” said Joanna impatiently. Gerald was impossible, and she was beginning to be sorry that she had inflicted him on her new friend.
They joined Jonathan Erland as the music started, and the four began to dance. Joanna was frowning. “What are you thinking of so grimly?” asked her partner.
“Brothers!” exclaimed Joanna, in strong accents of disgust.
He smiled, raising his eyebrows.
“They are the most infuriating things in nature,” added the girl by way of explanation.
“Are they? Having no brothers, I had not noticed.”
“Well, they are.” Joanna turned to look at Gerald. To her surprise, he was talking animatedly to Constance, even missing steps in his eagerness. “Why, how funny,” she said.
“What?”
“My brother.” Joanna shook her head. “It is just like him. I had to positively drag him from his discussion to dance, and now he seems to be having a fine time. There is no understanding him.”
Erland laughed at her disgusted expression. “Perhaps he found Miss Williston charming, after all.”
“Oh, yes, but Gerald would not care for that. He is interested only in Latin and Greek and fusty old poetry. I only hope he is not boring Constance about Virgil. The last time he came for a visit, he went on about him all through dinner.”
Looking at the other couple, Mr. Erland doubted that either party was bored, so he was able to dismiss this worry from his mind without difficulty. “You will be interested to hear, I hope, that I am getting on very well with my plan for a picnic,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Absolutely. ’Tis to be in two weeks’ time. I mean to send out the invitations tomorrow.”
“And Mrs. Smith did not object?” asked Joanna teasingly.
“On the contrary. I have hopes of making her leave my service over the issue. She is outraged.”
Joanna laughed. “And may I tell about your scheme now?”
He nodded. “Have you really kept it secret?”
“Of course I have.” Joanna was indignant.
Erland apologized, and the rest of the set was taken up with talk of his plans—where the tables were to be, what was to be served, whether there should be games. He asked her advice about each detail, and by the end of the dance Joanna felt very superior and knowledgeable.
Mrs. Rowntree had had a cold supper laid out in the dining room, and the young people soon followed some of the older ones there. Joanna was surprised to see Constance and Gerald go in together and sit down, still talking eagerly. She grimaced a little; Constance would get no supper if she relied on Gerald to fetch it. She and Erland joined Jack Townsend and his partner, and supper was a noisy, jolly meal.
After she had eaten, Joanna did an errand for her mother, then returned to the drawing room. Many of the guests were still at table, and the room was half empty when she came in. As she hesitated in the doorway, she heard someone call her name softly, and she whirled to face Peter Finley, who silently had come up behind her.
“Peter!” At once, Joanna’s heart began to beat faster. Though she had astonishingly almost forgotten about Peter during this evening, standing face-to-face brought back a flood of memories and confused emotions.
“How are you, Joanna?”
She stared at him, fascinated by his face, his modish blue coat. This was the man she had thought to marry. It made her feel peculiar. “Well,” she stammered.
“I meant to write you,” he went on quickly. “I know I should have, but it was…”
“Peter,” exclaimed a sweetly venomous voice from the drawing room. “And Miss Rowntree. How fortunate.”
As one, they turned to face Adrienne. Peter looked both annoyed and a little uneasy.
“Peter, I seem to have lost my fan,” continued the woman. “Would you be a darling and look in the dining room? Perhaps I left it there on the table.”
Peter nodded curtly and turned away without a word. His wife looked at Joanna. “So silly of me,” she murmured. “I am always misplacing my things.”
Joanna was silent. Mrs. Finley’s tone made it clear she was not pleased; and though Joanna had done nothing, she felt a little nervous.
“Well, Miss Rowntree, a delightful little party. I simply must compliment your mother.”
“Thank you,” said Joanna, a bit stiffly.
“And you also. You look charming in that sweet little dress.” The smile that accompanied this remark was so patronizing that Joanna could not bring herself to reply. She started to excuse herself, but the older woman stopped her by adding, “You go to London next season, I believe, Miss Rowntree?”
Joanna nodded.
“Ah, your first season! How I envy you. I remember mine with such fondness.”
“It was some years ago?” responded Joanna sweetly.
Mrs. Finley’s eyebrows went up, and she wagged a finger. “Now, now, you mustn’t ask that of an old married woman.” The bunches of light green ribbon on her gown fluttered as she moved. “If you like, I can write a note to one of my friends in town. It is vital to have introductions, you know, and not be completely unknown.” She smiled.
“You are too kind,” said Joanna through gritted teeth. “Fortunately, my mother has several old friends living in town, so we need not trouble you.”
This elicited a flood of questions as to who these friends were, where they lived, and how her mother knew them. Without being insolent, they were prying, and Joanna lacked the social address to turn them all aside. She did have the satisfaction, however, of knowing that Mama’s friends were unexceptionable and probably more fashionable than Adrienne’s. Indeed, the woman appeared to be impressed.
When she had found out what she wished to know, she changed the subject abruptly. “You know Peter’s housekeeper, I suppose?” she asked Joanna.
“Yes.”
“A kindly woman, but dreadfully old-fashioned. I have had to speak sharply to her several times since I arrived.”
Joanna made a noncommittal sound.
“The entire establishment is positively quaint, I vow,” continued Adrienne, oblivious to Joanna’s expression. “But bachelors are such helpless creatures. They never make changes in the house they grew up in, though I think Peter might have; his mother has been dead for years.” She shrugged. “But I should not complain. It leaves me more to do, and I am having a grand time. We mean to do the place over in the latest modes.”
She seemed to expect a reply. “Really?” said Joanna.
“Oh, absolutely. I am particularly interested in the park. I have a positive passion for gardening, and Peter’s garden is so antiquated. All those straight paths and square flower beds! We shall have them all pulled up and a cunning wilderness planted. And the shrubbery must go; it is so close and dark. You know Repton’s plans, of course?”
Joanna, thinking that she had spent countless happy hours in that shrubbery and that garden as a child, and never found the least fault, shook her head.
Adrienne raised her eyebrows. “No? But everyone talks of them.” She shrugged again. “I think them too perfect. And I am determined to get a hermit. They are all the crack, you know.”
“A hermit?” echoed Joanna, mystified.
“Oh, yes, my dear Miss Rowntree. Have you not heard of that, either? So fashionable. We mean to construct a grotto with a cave, and there is nothing more engaging than having a hermit to live in such a place. One’s guests just catch glimpses of him, you know, as he goes about his business. It is terribly affecting. The Duke of Devonshire has one.”
“But a—a hermit, that is, where does one find a hermit?”
Adrienne gave a long silvery laugh. “Oh, my dear, you are too amusing. He is not really a hermit, of course. One hires some local to put it on. I daresay there may be any number of old men in the neighborhood who will be delighted to have the place.”
Joanna was astonished by the idea. “D-do you?” she said weakly.
Adrienne made an airy gesture. “Naturally. What have they to do, after all? It is not as if it were difficult work. The man need only wear suitable clothing and wander about the grounds.” She frowned. “He will have to grow a beard, of course, and let his hair hang long, but he can be compensated for that.” She looked down at Joanna. “Do you know anyone who might want the place?”
“I? Oh, no, I don’t think so.”
“Well, no matter. Peter will find someone.”
Joanna tried to imagine Peter asking one of the neighborhood workmen, say old Mr. Jenkins, to take on such a role. She could not.
“And in the house,” Adrienne was going on, “I shall have new carpets and hangings, of course, and I think I shall pull out the wall between those two cramped front parlors and make them into a billiard room. So much more fashionable. It will mean that we cannot entertain on any scale for some time, but I don’t care for that. Our neighbors will understand, I daresay, and when we are finished, we shall have a gala day to show the new additions. How delightful it will be!” She paused to savor this idea, then carried on in the same manner for nearly a quarter of an hour, detailing all of her plans for Joanna.
The younger girl was both bored and rather overwhelmed at the extent and nature of these, and she said little in reply. She was heartily grateful when they were interrupted by her mother, who came in to start the dancing once more. Mrs. Finley gushed over her, no doubt remembering her creditable London connections.
Joanna took this opportunity to escape. Seeing Constance opposite, she went to her, eager to vent some of the outrage she was feeling. “What an appalling woman,” she said softly when she reached Constance’s side, “I came within an inch of telling her so, too.”
“What?” said Constance dreamily.
Joanna looked at her. Clearly, Constance was not listening. Her eyes seemed to be on some faraway object, yet when Joanna looked in that direction, there was nothing unusual to be seen. “Is anything wrong, Constance?” she asked.
“Wrong? Oh, no,” replied the other, with such emphasis that Joanna did not know what to make of it.
“Well, but you seem abstracted.”
Constance turned toward her, but did not really look at her. “Thank you, yes,” she said, and then drifted away across the floor.
Joanna frowned as she looked after her, but at that moment, Jack Townsend came up to beg her to start the dancing again as his partner, and she forgot Constance in the organization of a set.
There were several more dances before midnight, when the guests began to depart. Joanna had the last dance with Jonathan Erland again, and he was most enthusiastic about the evening. “I have never had such fun in England,” he told her. “Your mother is the best of hostesses.”
“Ah, but you must try to outdo her,” teased Joanna.
“No thought is further from my mind. I hope merely to repay her, and perhaps amuse her a bit.”
Joanna nodded absently.
“Will you go riding with me another day, Miss Joanna?” said her partner somewhat abruptly. “I very much enjoyed our outing last week.”
“If you like,” said Joanna.
“Perhaps Miss, ah, Williston would like to come also? We might make up a party.”
Joanna began to look more interested. “I don’t know if Constance rides. I suppose she does.”
“We shall ask her.”
The set ended on this note, and Joanna was called away by her mother, to say good-bye to the Grants. As they were talking, the Finley party came up to take their leave as well. Sir Rollin had reappeared from wherever he had spent the latter part of the evening; he looked bitterly sardonic. As Adrienne was bidding her mother farewell, Joanna looked at Peter. They had not danced and had hardly spoken to each other. How strange that seemed. Since their childhood, they had been inseparable at every neighborhood gathering they attended. And now, she had had a perfectly pleasant evening without him.
Peter looked down at her. “I am sorry we could not talk more,” he blurted. “I meant to.”
Joanna was surprised at his awkwardness. She had always thought of Peter as an immensely polished gentleman. But beside Sir Rollin Denby, he seemed a boy. “Yes,” she replied easily. On impulse, she held out a hand. “Another time, perhaps.”
Peter nodded, but his eyes slid nervously toward his wife. Joanna stared. How could she have thought herself in love with him?
Adrienne finished her good-byes quickly, gathered Peter, and went out, with a sharp glance at Joanna. Sir Rollin bowed over Mrs. Rowntree’s hand, to her evident amazement, and then turned to Joanna. “What have you done to set Adrienne’s back up?” he asked softly.
“I?”
He smiled. “So innocent. I wager we both know. Young Peter is not worth the battle, you know.” He looked at her. “Yes, I think you do.”
Cheeks flaming, Joanna blurted, “Where did you go?” Then berated herself for sounding like a ninny.
Denby raised one eyebrow, then smiled again. “Alas, I have not been a model guest, have I? I confess I went out to the garden.”
“The garden?”
“Yes. To brood on my wrongs.”
The girl smiled back uncertainly. “Not really?”
“Really. Brooding is good for the soul, you know.”
“I thought it was just the opposite.”
“I suppose it depends upon the soul in question.”
Joanna looked up at his tall, elegant figure, not knowing whether to laugh. Before she could decide, he took his leave and followed his sister out the door.
“How strange he is,” said Joanna to herself.
She did not realize she had spoken aloud until a voice replied, “He strives to give that impression, certainly, the Byronic agony.”
Joanna turned to see Jonathan Erland’s ironic smile.
“It is irresistibly attractive to some females, I understand,” he added.
Joanna did not quite like the way he looked at her when he said this, so she answered only, “You are going, Mr. Erland?”
He nodded. “Yes, but I…” He paused. “Yes. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Bidding her mother farewell also, he went out.
Only the group around Mr. Rowntree remained now, and Joanna’s mother gestured toward them with a smile. “They will be talking for hours yet. We may as well go to bed, Joanna.”
The girl nodded.
“Are you tired?”
Joanna considered. “No,” she said, “not at all.”
Her mother laughed. “Well, I am. Come let us go.” And arm in arm, they walked up the stairs and toward the bedrooms.