Joan surveyed him consideringly.
"I've never observed that you have a saint's face, Jerry," she remarked calmly.
"Beast! Joan"—he made a dive for her hand, but she eluded him with the skill of frequent practice—"how much longer are you going to keep me on tenterhooks? You know I'm the prodigal son, and that I'm only waiting for you to say 'yes,' to return to the family bosom—"
"And you propose to use me as a stepping stone! I know. You think that if you return as an engaged young man—"
"With a good reference from my last situation," interpolated Jerry, grinning.
"Yes—that too, then your father will forget all your peccadilloes and say, 'Bless you, my children'—"
"Limelight on the blushing bur-ride! And they lived happily ever after! Yes, that's it! Jolly good programme, isn't it?"
And somehow Jerry's big boyish arm slipped itself round Joan's shoulders—and Joan raised no objections.
"But—about Max and Diana?" resumed Miss Stair after a judicious interval.
"Well, what about them?"