"No, I didn't, and I've been good all day. I went to your old library concern and attended to it beautifully, and I talked to Lucy like a grandmother, and gave her splendid advice. She really chirked up wonderfully, and tried to hide her smiles behind that ridiculous veil. Isn't she funny?"
"Or pathetic—which? But you've been a good child, I see. Now, try the same process on me. I'm all tired out and need 'chirking,' too."
"You may be tired, but it hasn't struck in, Joyce. You're just beaming inside, and it shines through."
Joyce laughed and snuggled down closer into her pillows.
"What sharp eyes you have! So you don't approve of me unless I am weary inside, as well as out?"
"I do too, only—well, this is just the way you used to look when we were expecting Leon home, and we are not expecting him now."
"Oh, you think I have mistaken the occasion? I see!" She spoke in a tone Camille knew of old which, though seldom used towards a Bonnivel, could hold almost any one in check. So the girl went on rapidly, determined to have her say out,
"I won't beat about the bush any more. I believe you are perfectly happy with George Dalton, and don't want anybody else. Now, aren't you? Own up!"
Joyce had burrowed so deeply by this time that only one pink ear was visible, and Camille was looking at this with a determined expression when a quick, firm step was heard in the hall—in fact, more than one—and Larry's voice called impatiently.
"Where are you girls, anyhow? Can't you let a wanderer in without the ceremony of an announcement?"