"It needs to be shorter," meditated Phyllis aloud, and fell to
pinning it up to the proper shortness.
Joy continued to look at it rapturously. It had been a straight,
long gown, and all Phyllis had needed to do was to drape it with the
net ripped from the other dress and shorten and cut it into
fashionableness. It was charming--springlike and becoming, and, best
of all, strictly up to date!
"Don't you think you'll feel equal to being the feature of the
reception in that?" demanded Phyllis. "I certainly should in your
place.... That is, if you have silver slippers."
"I have, and I think I do," said Joy gravely.
"Then I'll hand this over to Viola to put the finishing stitches in.
Look out the window--do you see anything familiar coming up the path?"
Joy, in her pinned finery, looked, then snatched her clothes from
the sofa, where they lay in state, and ran upstairs. John was coming
along the path, and she didn't want him to know about her frock till
it was all done.
She came down a moment later, brown-clad and demure, and looking so
young and harmless that any man would have been sure his tilt with
her, of the night before, was a dream. She greeted him shyly, with
her lashes down.
"Isn't--isn't it a little early for you to be away from your
patients?" she asked.
"My morning office hours are just over, and I'm on my way to make
some calls in the car. Want to come?" he asked.
"Thank you," said Joy.
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