“Joy doesn’t need to dress. She can sit here and hold my hand, can’t you, Joy?” Joy refused this entreaty, and she and Jerry left him among the magazines. In the hallway Jerry shot her a swift glance. “Nice start-off your visit’s getting,” she said. “But we take things as they come; life’s too complicated any other way.” Joy laughed. “There’s a lot in what you say. I never thought of it that way before—but that’s a pretty good philosophy of life.” She went to telephone the Students’ Club. She had taken the momentous step; already things were beginning to whirl; and the guilty feeling in her excitement was growing fainter. Jerry was like one of Barrie’s characters—a law unto herself. A week of this—a week only—would be an unforgettable experience! Much later, she went back into the living-room to find Jerry in a vivid green georgette, giving Packy a manicure across one of the little card tables. Twinky was sitting up, looking a little the worse for wear, throwing in a word of conversation now and then. “Here comes the houri back again,” said Packy, waving one shining-nailed hand at her. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Joy. You don’t mind, do you?” “He really has, you know,” said Twink. “He’s been handing Jerry a noise about it ever since I can remember.” “Is it a fact you’ve come to Boston to study singing?” Packy inquired. “Sing us a song, will you?” “Go ahead, Joy,” said Jerry, putting away the manicure tools. “It’ll keep ’em quiet, anyway.” Joy went over to the piano. “What kind of songs do you like?” “Slushy ones,” said Twink promptly, to which Packy echoed: “Yes; the kind you can sit back and dream about.” Joy played a few chords. The piano responded to her touch almost like a human being. Jerry evidently had kept it in tune, and the action suited her. She noticed these details automatically, as her voice floated out in an old college song. Her voice was rich with a promise that made one yearn for its fulfillment; but Joy did not even know enough about singing to know her faults, or to care. There were three verses, and when she had ended, there was a little silence in the room. Twink was the first to speak. “Some voice,” he said comfortably. “Got Melba and all the rest of the what-do-you-call-’ems trilling for help ’sfar’s I’m concerned.” “You usually have to pay good money and sit in a stiff-backed chair to hear anything like that,” Packy contributed. Jerry jumped up, tossing back her hair, which had fallen around her eyes. “You two have got to go now. I must talk to Joy—and Twink’s family will be sending out a search-warrant. So long!”