"I think I made it plain," she said. "I said it was quite impossible: more impossible than ever."
Lady Crowborough in the dusk allowed herself to beam all over her face.
"And what did you mean by that, my dear?" she said. "To me it sounds as if there was nobody else last June, but somebody else now."
"Oh, Grannie, it means just that," said Joyce in a whisper.
"And was it any of my flirts in Cairo?" asked Lady Crowborough, who liked a little joking even when her heart was most entirely tender and sympathetic. Quite truly, she believed it "helped things out" to grin over them.
Joyce grinned.
"No, not in Cairo," she said.
"Then it was that flirt of mine down at the Mill House, who's going to paint my picture," she exclaimed. "Don't deny it, my dear. A nice boy, too, though he ain't got a penny. However, we'll talk about the pennies afterwards. Now do you think he fancies you at all? Don't be so silly, Joyce, hiding your face like that."
"Yes, Grannie, I think he does. I can't be sure, you know I—I haven't had any experience."
"Lor', my dear, what do you want with experience over that sort o' thing?" asked Lady Crowborough. "And if you're too modest to say, I'll say it for you. He does like you and you know it. I saw him, the wretch, looking at you in the right way. So I don't understand what all the fuss is about. You like him, and he likes you. Eh?"