"An architect, really? Then I'll have to get you to help me on my little house. But you're too good-looking for an architect," she laughed. "I thought they always wore pointed beards, like doctors."
"Oh, I'm not a Beaux-Arts man," I said, keeping up with her mood.
"Are you married?"
"No, I'm happy to say I'm not."
"So am I!" she laughed. "That is to say, I'm glad I'm not, and I'm glad you're not. My name is Joy. Isn't it silly? It doesn't fit me at all. I ought to have been called Edna."
"Very well, then, you shall be!" I volunteered.
She took it without surprise or annoyance. "Oh, I don't stand on ceremony. That's silly. If you're going to stay here for a week I shall have to call you Chester. Do you mind? It's an awful bore to have to say 'Mr. Castle' all the time."
"By all means. My mother and my friends call me 'Chet'—"
"That's better still. Chet." She tried it audibly. "I rather like that."
"You're welcome to it." I laughed at her directness.