Nobody else, apparently, was stirring yet. Joy was beginning to feel
hungry, so she strayed into the dining-room, to see whether by any
chance anybody else was down.
Phyllis was just coming into the dining-room, with her son
frolicking about her.
"How do you feel after your triumph last night?" she asked. "Dead;
or do you want another party this morning? I was proud of you, Joy.
Everybody told me how pretty you were, and how charming, and how
intelligent it was of me to be a friend of yours."
Joy flushed with genuine pleasure.
"Oh, was I--did they?" she asked. "Phyllis, it was _lovely!_ ...
And think of being able to dance like that without knowing how!
That was just a plain miracle, if you like!"
"Good-morning, Joy," said Allan, coming in at this point.
He sat down with them and attacked his grapefruit.
"I see I'm two laps behind on breakfast. Philip, you young rascal,
where's my cherry?"
Philip giggled uncontrollably.
"Why, Father, you ate it yourself! _You_ ate it while you said
good-morning to Joy!"
"You seem to have made one fast friend, Joy," pursued Allan,
dismissing the subject of the cherry for later consideration.
"Rutherford confided to me last night that he thought he had been
working too hard; he isn't returning to his native heath for a month
more. His aunt's been pressing him to stay on, and he thinks he
will. He's coming over to see me this morning. He's devoted to me,"
stated Allan sweetly.
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