“Does my skirt sag?” Joy asked.
“No. Does anything look worse than Prom-shot evening dresses at breakfast? And now you sail down in a little sporting model—why did I need to do anything to you?”
“Well,” said Joy defensively, “I woke up and couldn’t sleep, and I knew you’d all be coming in soon, and I didn’t want to miss any more of it than I had to. That’s all there is to it.”
Jerry had whisked herself into her pajamas by this time, and now stopped to look at Joy, hands on her hips, very much as she had last night. “Your first Prom—and you live in Foxhollow Corners,” she said slowly. “And you look like that—and have pep like that—and can sing enough so that you ought to go somewhere really good and take a jab at it. Joy, tell me—what in the name of the Seven Sutherland Sisters, is the thing that keeps you in Foxhollow Corners?”
Joy stopped on the threshold. “Why—I don’t know. I really—don’t know.”
“Is it a man?”
“No. There are no men—to speak of.”
“Well—come back here a minute and let me tell you something that’s been percolating through my Sarah Brum ever since I heard you sing way last night—you won’t miss much for a second or so, these breakfast parties are always long ones especially when the stags are edged——”
The mention of edged stags brought Joy back into the room.
“Look here, Joy, I like you. I don’t usually like girls, either. I don’t like Sal much, and I live with her most of the time. But I like you. Look here—I want you to think over leaving Foxhollow Corners. Sal and I have an apartment down in Boston. I know a good teacher there who would trot you through anything you needed. You don’t look like the type of girl who puts in a lifetime of watchful waiting in the home town. Think it over.”