Diana was more than charmed by the arrangement. The corners of her mouth deepened as if she were also amused, but Enoch, engrossed in seating her where the light exactly suited him, did not note the curving lips. He did not know much about women's dress, but he liked Diana's soft white gown, and the curious turquoise necklace she wore interested him. He asked her about it.
"Na-che gave it to me," she said. "It was her mother's. It has no special significance beyond the fact that the workmanship is very fine and that the tracery on the silver means joy."
"Joy? What sort of joy?" asked Enoch.
"Is there more than one sort?" countered Diana, in the bantering voice that Enoch always fancied was half tender.
"Oh, yes!" replied the Secretary. "There's joy in work, play, friends. There are as many kinds of joy as there are kinds of sorrow. Only sorrow is so much more persistent than joy! A sorrow can stay by one forever. But joys pass. They are always short lived."
"Joy in work does not pass, Mr. Secretary," said Diana.
Enoch laid down his spoon. "Please, Miss Allen, don't Mr. Secretary me any more."
Diana merely smiled. "Granted that one has a real friend, I believe joy in friendship is permanent," she went on.
"I hope you're right," said Enoch quietly. "We'll see, you and I."
Diana did not reply. She was, perhaps, a little troubled by Enoch's calm and persistent declaration of principles. It is not easy for a woman even of Diana's poise and simple sincerity to keep in order a gentleman as distinguished and as courteous and as obviously in earnest as Enoch.