Joyce's eyes turned in the direction of her sister who was coming out of the dining-room with Aintree.
"She's worth some sacrifice."
"You couldn't make her lot easier if you had every vote in creation. She's up against the existing divorce law, and that's buttressed by every Church, and every dull married woman in the country. You're starting conversation at the wrong end, Joyce."
Her little arched eyebrows raised themselves at the name.
"Joyce?" she repeated.
"You were Joyce when last we met."
"That was twenty years ago."
"It seems less. I should like to blot out those years."
"And have me back in nursery frocks and long hair?"
"Better than long convict frocks and short hair," I answered with laborious antithesis.