Joy lifted her wide innocent eyes and gave him a discreet version.
"That, after all, this is a glade in Fairyland, and I am the princess, and you—the dragon," she ended under her breath.
But Clarence, naturally enough, wasn't given to casting himself as a dragon. He was perfectly certain he was a prince, and said so with charming frankness.
Joy continued to sing to herself.
"I don't see why I shouldn't kiss your hand, if I'm a prince," he observed next. "In fact, as nice a little hand as you have really calls for such."
He reached for it—the nearest, with the wishing ring on it.
She snatched it indignantly away and clasped her hand indignantly over the ring. That would be profanation!
"I wish somebody would come!" she thought. "I'll have to leave not only Clarence, but my nice fountain, in a minute." The next thing she thought was, "What a well-trained wishing ring!" for Viola appeared between the tall rose trees at the entrance to the little pleasance.
"Miss Joy, have you seen Philip anywhere?" she asked. "It's his dinner-time, and I've hunted the house upsidedown for him."
"Nowhere at all," said Joy truthfully, "Oh, is it as late as all that? I'd better go, Mr. Rutherford."