He turned to the children. "Say good-by to Joy now, infants—I'm going to take her away with me."
"You do that a great deal of the time, it seems to me," observed Philip regretfully. "But of course, I suppose she really does belong to you."
"Exactly," laughed John, lifting the little boy up to kiss him. "She does. Come, my property."
They got into the car amicably, laughing over Philip. But John wasn't through with her.
"Was it quite courteous, my dear," he asked gently, but with a certain firmness, "to leave Gail that way? It was only a chance that I was able to explain it. In a sense she was a guest in your house."
Joy flamed up.
"Was it quite courteous of Gail," she demanded passionately, "to come in and take my house away from me, and demand that I hand her over the housekeeping—no, not demand it, calmly take it?"
John looked a little perplexed for the moment, which gave Joy time to calm down a little, and remind herself that men were like that.
"Somehow one doesn't expect Gail to be considerate," he explained finally. "It—well, it isn't one of her qualities. I think I heard her say once that she had never found it necessary. But you—I expect so much more of you, Joy!"
One would suppose that this might have been soothing. John seemed to consider it so. But it wasn't.