"
"They seem to have begun wrecking your taste for literature early,"
observed Clarence.
"Oh--literature!" said Joy wearily.
"Your tone hints that we didn't come off to discuss the poets. You
are quite right, Sorcerette. When two charming young persons like
ourselves are alone together on a wonderful fall afternoon they
should discuss only each other. And you must admit that my
references to literature were only incidental to yourself."
"Well, anyway," stated Joy, pausing as they strolled, and beginning
to braid into a garland a handful of wild asters she had gathered,
"anyway, I ought to go back to the house and help Gail get dinner.
John likes things just so."
"Heavens, how marital!" sighed Clarence, wincing. Then suddenly he
seemed more in earnest than Joy had ever known him. "Can't you ever
talk or think of anything but the admirable John? How on earth did
he get you so thoroughly broken in?"
Joy's cheeks flamed.
"He didn't 'break me in,'" she defended. "But I think I ought to see
to it that things are all right. You see, when your cousin came and
offered to take over the housekeeping--if she wasn't your cousin, I
might say she got it away from me--she thought she was helping
herself to a 'nice, clane, aisy job,' as the Irishman said about
being a bishop. It really isn't fair to let her in for work she
didn't expect."
The look Clarence bent on her this time held genuine admiration.
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