He laughed. “It’s awful to be in love with you and not know a thing about you. Of course I know you’re Jerry’s pal, and a singer—how did you happen to connect up with Jerry, anyway? Of course, she’s an international character, but——”
“But what?” Joy combatted. “I met her at a Prom. Then when I came to Boston—I looked her up. Staying with her is lots more fun than a boarding-house. Sarah and I don’t get on very well together—but I don’t see her much.”
“H’m.” There was a pause. “H’m—I don’t know just how to take you now. Maybe you like being an enigma. Do you?”
“I suppose every girl likes being told she is an enigma.”
“Well, you are one. I never had any trouble sizing up a girl before—maybe I can’t size you up because I’m in love with you.”
“I wish,” said Joy, irritated, “that you would stop talking about love so—so fluently. I object to taking its name in vain just to make conversation.”
He screeched the horn derisively. “What do you want to talk about? Politics? What do other men talk to you about? The weather? Besides, I really am in love with you. Lord knows I’ve said it enough—and written it—and said it with flowers—I thought I’d paved the way quite neatly!”
“If you think you’re—in love with me—well, you just plain don’t know what love is.”
“Well, do you?” She was silent. “I’ve got my own little working idea that’s large enough for me. I’d show you some of it right now if I didn’t have to drive this car.”
“That isn’t love!” she cried sharply.