"Let me go," she said in too low a voice for Mrs. Hewitt to hear.
"Who has drawn the wine must drink it," he told her in the same low
voice. He went on, still softly, but more seriously, "My child, this
sort of thing is necessary, if you want Mother to be satisfied while
you are here. It's--a courtesy to your hostess. I promise to do no
more of it than is necessary, as it seems to trouble you so.
But--don't you see?"
He released her, and she stepped away.
"I--see," she answered him a little uncertainly. "Th--thank you....
I--I couldn't help coming, John."
Then she fled upstairs to dress for dinner.
She puzzled all the time she was dressing. There was no use
talking--his mother _needn't_ be amused by such things. She
would get on perfectly well without seeing them. John might think he
was doing it as a sacred duty--in spite of her adoration of him it
did not impress Joy that way.... There were men who kissed you just
because you were a girl, if you let them; Clarence was that kind,
according to all accounts. But--John! He was the best, kindest,
noblest man she had ever known. Every one seemed to have the same
feelings about him that she had. Even when Clarence had sneered at
him he had only been able to call him a "reliable citizen."... And
yet--he seemed to want to kiss her! He liked it.
"Of course," said Joy to herself, with a beating heart beneath the
wisdom of Aunt Lucilla, "the answer is that he probably doesn't know
it.
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