"I do understand," affirmed Phyllis, with her mind flying back for a moment to a gray February day in a Philadelphia library—a day that was eight years old now. "I think I can understand anything you are going to tell me."
But Joy went on to the day when she had hidden on the stairs to get away from the people, and John had come in, with the light glinting on his hair, and catching in the ring on his finger.
"I suppose I fell in love with him then, though I didn't know what it was," Joy confessed. "And when I met you and Philip and Allan I loved you all so, too, and it seemed so queer you liked me—just me, you know, not somebody's granddaughter that he used for trimmings!"
"Who wouldn't?" said Phyllis matter-of-factly. "So far as I can see, most people are crazy over you."
"And Grandfather wouldn't let me go unless I'd been engaged—or he said that was the only reason—he thought I couldn't be, of course. And—and it flew out. And I used John's name when he cornered me, because I remembered him, and how kind he'd been. And on top of that——"
"And on top of that John turned up! Good gracious!" said Phyllis. She could not help a little laugh but her face sobered swiftly. "Think of that man's cleverness and self-control! Why—why, Joy, no man would do all that unless he cared for you a little, anyhow."
"John would," said Joy with conviction. "You know how he is about honor and courtesy and doing things for people."
Phyllis nodded. That was an incontrovertible fact.
"And he's told Gail," Joy went on. "That's the only secret I ever had in my life, so it must be that. So I'm going to run away. I simply can't stay and..."
"Told Gail! Ridiculous!" cried Phyllis. "Unless ... unless——"