"I'm not so sure about that," she flushed, amusement rippling her face.
"Someone's got to blow up that young man like a Dutch uncle, and I think
I'm elected. I'll try not to think about being a lady; then I can do my
full duty, Dad. It'll be fun to see how he takes it."
"Now—now," he remonstrated.
"It's all right to be proud," she went on. "I wouldn't want to see him hold his head any lower. But there's no sense in being so offish that even his friends have to give him up. And that's what it'll come to if he acts the way he does. Folks will stand just so much. Then they give up trying."
"I reckon you're right about that, Joy."
"Of course I'm right. You have to meet your friends halfway."
"Well, if you talk to him don't hurt his feelin's."
There was a glint of mirth in her eyes, almost of friendly malice. "I'm going to worry him about my feelings, Dad. He'll not have time to think of his own."
Joyce found her chance next day. She met David Sanders in front of a drug-store. He would have passed with a bow if she had let him.
"What does the oil expert Mr. Graham sent think about our property?" she asked presently, greetings having been exchanged.
"He hasn't given out any official opinion yet, but he's impressed. The report will be favorable, I think."