"If you want it, go
buy a phonograph record. And if you want me out here in the woods
with you, stop talking about it!"
She really shouldn't have been so cross. Clarence was supposed to be
very clever when he talked. But just then she was only half
listening to him, and there came a sudden vision of the night
before--the cozy room, and the wood fire, and John across from her,
smiling gravely at her, and talking in a way that didn't make her
feel, as Clarence's way did, that he was laughing at her underneath,
when he thought she couldn't see.
John had told her once that his ideal girl wore something white or
blue, and had her hair parted, and was connected in his mind some
way with a wood fire. And he had talked and acted as if she was that
girl. She'd had on the little blue dress that she'd bought, and made
look modern with a fichu of Mrs. Hewitt's....
Clarence's voice interrupted her thoughts, rather plaintively.
"Dear Joy! I _will_ buy a phonograph record! I will buy a whole
album of them. I will purchase a copy of the Last Ravings of John
McCullough, and have it rave to me the last thing every night, as a
penance, if you will only stop looking off into space, and give at
least a fair imitation of knowing that I exist."
Joy's heart misgave her. She really wasn't being very polite.
"Of course you exist," she said penitently. "And you are very nice
and polite, in your way, and you must make allowance for my not
being clever.
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