“Waiting’s the worst thing I do,” Jerry responded; “but I don’t care—it’s a deal. You can sit here and watch by his bedside. Joy and I have got to dress.”
“Joy doesn’t need to dress. She can sit here and hold my hand, can’t you, Joy?”
Joy refused this entreaty, and she and Jerry left him among the magazines. In the hallway Jerry shot her a swift glance.
“Nice start-off your visit’s getting,” she said. “But we take things as they come; life’s too complicated any other way.”
Joy laughed. “There’s a lot in what you say. I never thought of it that way before—but that’s a pretty good philosophy of life.”
She went to telephone the Students’ Club. She had taken the momentous step; already things were beginning to whirl; and the guilty feeling in her excitement was growing fainter. Jerry was like one of Barrie’s characters—a law unto herself. A week of this—a week only—would be an unforgettable experience!
Much later, she went back into the living-room to find Jerry in a vivid green georgette, giving Packy a manicure across one of the little card tables. Twinky was sitting up, looking a little the worse for wear, throwing in a word of conversation now and then.
“Here comes the houri back again,” said Packy, waving one shining-nailed hand at her. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Joy. You don’t mind, do you?”
“He really has, you know,” said Twink. “He’s been handing Jerry a noise about it ever since I can remember.”
“Is it a fact you’ve come to Boston to study singing?” Packy inquired.