“JOAN! THANK HEAVENS, you’re home!”
A small man of about fifty came hurrying and limping into the entrance hall. Mr. Purnell embraced his daughter, and Joan hugged him.
“Yes, I’m all right, Dad! Dad, this is Miss Victoria Barr.”
“You’re in flight uniform—” He guessed instantly. “You must have found Joan? Miss Barr, I’m so grateful to you. So happy to have you here.”
“Yes, Dad, Vicki came to the rescue.”
Joan told the story.
Joan’s father shook Vicki’s hand warmly with almost pathetic gratitude. Mr. Purnell was an appealing person, small in bone and stature, with a scholar’s stooped shoulders, fine hands and delicate features. He was dressed in a soft, shabby tweed suit—tobacco brown, matching his thin fringe of hair and his warm, reflective eyes like Joan’s eyes.
“Miss Barr—Victoria
