She found that Clarence was gone.
"I got rid of him," John explained serenely to her questioning
glance. "You didn't need him particularly, did you, kiddie?"
Joy lifted her eyebrows.
"Not particularly," she replied, "but I should have liked to say
good-night to him."
"I felt exactly that way myself," responded John cheerfully, "so I
did. I was like the man in the Ibsen parody, who said, 'I will not
only make him _feel_, but be at home!'" He paused a moment, and
looked graver. "Come here, kiddie," he said.
Joy had been standing just inside the door all this time, on tiptoe
for flight. She came slowly over in response to his beckoning hand,
and he drew her down to a stool beside him, keeping his arm around her.
"Little girl," he said, "you're young, and you're inexperienced, and
I don't want to see you let Rutherford go too far. I'd rather you
didn't take part in this affair he's getting up."
Joy started back from his encircling arm, and looked at him
reproachfully.
"Oh, John! Why, I want to _dreadfully!_"
"It isn't that I want to take any pleasure away from you," he
explained. "It's simply that the opera would of necessity throw you
into closer contact with Clarence--and I don't think you quite
understand what Clarence is. He is very attractive, but, as I have
told you before, he is not a man I would trust. A man who goes as
deliberately about making women in love with him as he does, with a
frank admission to other men that he collects them, isn't a man I
want you to have much to do with.
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