She had forgotten all the outside things, until presently she felt some one standing near her.
"Lean down to the water, Melisande, Melisande!"
the some one sang, in a soft, half-mocking voice.
She turned and looked up.
"How do you do, Mr. Rutherford?" she said sedately.
She had been addressed as "Melisande" too many times, at home with the poets, to be particularly excited, but even a man of Clarence's well-known capabilities couldn't be expected to know this. He disposed himself gracefully along the edge of the fountain. He had a feline and leisurely grace, in spite of the fact that he wasn't specially thin, had Clarence, as he very well knew.
"I hope I won't fall into the water," he observed disarmingly. "I may if you speak to me too severely. See here, Melisande, why did you go and be all engaged to the worthy Dr. Hewitt? You had four or five good years of fun ahead of you if you hadn't."
"I mustn't listen to you, if you talk that way," Joy told him quietly.
"Oh, you'd better," said Clarence with placidity. "I'm very interesting."
"You're very vain," Joy told him, laughing at him in spite of herself.