"Speak lower," said Phyllis. "I'm perfectly certain I heard footsteps."
"Probably a deputation from Miss Addams' school, to ask you whether the right or left foot comes first," her husband answered her quite accurately.
"But, Allan dear," protested Phyllis, "you know perfectly well that if I don't go out and stem the tide they will find Joy, and tear the child away from the first moment she's had with John alone since I don't know when."
"This is the first moment I've had alone with you since I don't know when," he answered, unmoved, coming over and putting both arms around her, to draw her resolutely away from the door. "And if you will consider carefully, my darling, you will remember that Joy is much younger than either of us, and hence has many more years to spend with John than you have with me. Now cease to be a slave to duty, or whatever it is, and come sit on the arm of my chair."
"You'll never grow up!" said Phyllis protestingly; but she ceased to be a slave to duty immediately, and sat on the arm of his chair until he pulled her down on his lap, which he did almost on the spot.
Meanwhile Joy, walking up and down in the garden paths and memorizing her part, had been found by John, who was trying to lure her off for a ride.
"Nobody can find us on a galloping car," he said persuasively.
But Joy was more steadfast than Phyllis.
"I expect Tiddy over to rehearse with me," she said. "He will be here in about five minutes. You know that 'Good morrow, good mother' thing that he has to do prancing in and playing on a pipe. And none of us can make out what a pipe is. Tiddy says if there's no further light on it by next rehearsal he's going to use a meerschaum."
"You might let me rehearse with you," grumbled John. "Every time I come near I find you dancing hand-in-hand with Tiddy or Clarence or Mrs. Beeson" (Mrs. Beeson was the gigantic Fairy Queen) "or sewing on some wild thing for some seminary child."