"Bully!" he cried. "That was a sockdollager! Dare you to do it again, Major! Doubledare you!"
Seeing him so, the play of powerful muscles under skin as white as a girl's, the joyous grin on his big, plain face, the sheer good-nature of him, intent on giving an older man what he called a "run for his money," and yet as controlledly gentle with him as a great dog playing with a child, Joan began to understand why Johnny Carmichael and his friends were enthusiastic over Archie Blair. He was that rarest of finds, a good playfellow.
The companionship of men with men was something she suddenly envied. Why couldn't women put on gloves and knock some of the pettiness out of each other, the small spites and vanities and jealousies? She would very much have enjoyed letting a little blood out of the nose of, say, Emily Carmichael! In a perfectly friendly spirit, of course....
The boxing matches accomplished several results. They were extremely good for the Major, reducing his waist by several inches and so increasing his staying-powers that he could eat his way through dinner from hors d'œuvre to crème de menthe without losing breath. They were good for Joan, giving her a new perspective on male human nature, which since the episode of Eduard Desmond she had been in danger of regarding rather cynically. And if they weren't altogether good for Archie Blair—well, Archibald was a young man quite accustomed to taking care of himself.
He would have faced greater perils than he did for the privilege of spending a glorious hour under the same roof with Miss Darcy—whom he continued to call "Miss Darcy" even in his secret thoughts, though she had lately formed the delightful habit of addressing him as "Archie."
She had also presented him kindly with a small photograph of herself on a post-card, taken for the purpose of showing Stefan Nikolai the furs he had sent her, and incidentally the ringless condition of her left hand. (It was her answer to his letter about the phagocytes.)
Archie did not exhibit this treasure, even to his friend Ellen Neal, regarding it in the nature of a sacred trust. He had made for it a frame with a little door which locked, and which greatly intrigued the good woman for several days; until she found that the back of it came off quite easily.
CHAPTER XXVII
In their weekly chats over her tea-table (from which the Major early excused himself, possibly under wifely suggestion), Joan got into the way of being quite confidential with Archibald. She told him one day how lonely she was for women's companionship.