"Well, Phyllis, I'm glad you approve of
my--ah--choice. How long do you think it will take it to get its hat on?"
"Oh, you can laugh," Phyllis answered him, "but I know you're proud
of her, just the same."
"Well, she's creditable," said John unemotionally, but with a little
smile beginning to show at the corners of his mouth.
"I'm ready!" called Joy breathlessly from the top of the stairs, and
ran down tumultuously. "Oh, Phyllis, can't I have some roses to take
to John's sick people--the poor ones? I want them to like me!"
"Help yourself." Phyllis granted promptly.
"Not a bit of it." John contradicted her coolly. "You must teach
them to love you for yourself alone. Come on, kiddie."
He tucked her hand under his arm and hurried her, laughing, down the
drive. Phyllis ran after them with a too-late-remembered motor-veil,
which she managed to convey into the car by the risky method of
tying a stone in it and throwing the stone. It just missed John, and
Joy nearly fell out, turning to wave thanks for it.
John threw his arm around her hastily to hold her in, and so Phyllis
saw them out of sight.
"You needn't do that any more," observed Joy as they sped on.
"There's nobody can see us now."
"That, with most people," observed John amusedly, "would be a reason
for continuing to do it."
"M'm," said Joy in assent, as he removed his arm. "You see," she
went on rather apologetically, "I never was engaged before, not even
this much, and I probably shan't always do it right.
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