Could they, Viola?"
The colored girl, who had been doing the masses of Joy's bronze hair
while her mistress, kneeling by the dressing-table, put the
finishing touches to some frock-draperies, giggled.
"Well dressed? Why, Miss Joy looks like the vampire in the movie show!"
"Final praise!" sighed Phyllis. "You never told me I was as well
dressed as a vampire, Viola."
"You couldn't live up to vampiring, nohow, Mrs. Harrington, nor you
shouldn't want to, not with that goldy hair of yours," said Viola
reprovingly.
"Virtue is thrust upon me, in other words," said Phyllis. "Evidently
you have possibilities of crime, Joy!"
They went down, laughing, to where Allan and John were waiting for
them, Allan walking the floor in his usual quick, boyish fashion,
John sitting at a table reading, by way of economizing time. Being a
doctor, he had a way of snapping up odds and ends of time and doing
things with them.
He looked up from his paper as Joy's light footsteps pattered down
the stairs, and continued to look at her. The green and silver of
her gown glittered and flowed around her. Viola had done her hair
high, and the wealth of it showed more, even, than when it was down
in its accustomed braids. Her surprising black brows and lashes,
with the innocence of her blue eyes, and the half-wistful,
half-daring expression she had, made her seem a combination of
sophistication and childishness such as John had never seen before.
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