"They won't find us for at least ten minutes, unless we wigwag.
Now--what's a sorcerette?"
His tone, in spite of his carelessness, betrayed a certain anxiety
to learn. Joy answered him with fullness and simplicity.
"A sorcerette is somebody with coloring like mine, and a cross
between a seraph and a little witch," she replied innocently.
"That's what Clarence said. But I _think_ he made up the name
himself," she added conscientiously, as if that would be some help.
John grinned a little in spite of himself.
"I don't like the idea particularly of his making the name up himself,"
he remarked; "but there is something in what Rutherford said!"
"I'm very glad you think so," said Joy with a transparent meekness.
"And now that you've found out, isn't it time you went back to your
duties?"
He looked at her doubtfully, where she sat in the half-light with
her head held high and her hands crossed on her green-and-silver
lap. He could not quite make out her expression.
But he had not much more chance for cross-questioning, because
guests were beginning to come thickly, and his mother was sending
out agonized scouting parties for the feature of the evening.
Phyllis, knowing the rooms of old, discovered her. She swooped down
on the pair, where they were sitting in the little dim room.
"You wretched people, this is no time for that sort of thing!" she
exclaimed, shoving them before her. "Please try to remember that you
will, in all likelihood, spend a lifetime together.
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