He dropped on one knee beside the blaze, drawing her down on the hearth-rug by him.
"I feel like the man in the fairy-stories," he said in a voice Joy did not quite know, "who catches an elf-girl in some unfair way, and finds her turn to a dear human woman in his house. Joy ... will she stay human?"
Joy's heart beat furiously as she knelt there, held close to his side. The little head with its great coil of glittering hair drooped.
"She—she always was human," she half whispered, her throat tightening with excitement. She could feel the blood stealing up over her face.
"That is no answer, Joy, my dear," he said softly.
But it was at this moment that a voice behind the curtains said, "Dinner is served."
Joy sprang up, but John stayed where he was, his broad shoulders and fair head bent a little forward as he looked into the blaze.
She touched his arm timidly.
"John—please—you must go up and see your mother before dinner."
He roused himself from whatever he had been thinking of and turned to her.