“In love with Packy?” Jerry laughed noisily. “Don’t strain yourself so, Joy. That girl never was in love with anything. She’s somewhat dashed about Packy because he’s the ideal playmate—lots of income and a thoughtful disposition—the combination gets rarer all the time.” The doorbell interrupted them. “I hope no more blades to sleep off a jag,” said Jerry as they went down the hall. “This is no hotel.” But it was a special messenger boy to whom they opened the door, who extended two boxes to Joy and a receipt book to Jerry. Jerry signed in a blurred scribble and the two darted to the living-room with the boxes, one of which was addressed to Jerry, and one, to Joy’s surprise, marked with her name. Jerry made short work of hers, tearing it open in one swift motion. All Jerry’s motions were swift—whether she exhausted a cigarette in less time than some people take in lighting, or leaped into her clothes. She held up before her one of the most beautiful negligées Joy had ever seen—a shimmering purple brocaded satin, with folds of chiffon floating away from it. “I knew Packy’d do that,” said Jerry; “but I must say it’s quick work. What’s your little keepsake?” “Joy’s little keepsake” was a huge mass of American Beauties, with a note which read: “I suppose you’re used to this sort of thing, but I feel gay just to add myself onto the crowd. From—the only man who ever loved you the way I do.” “Mine has Twink’s card, with ‘Part Payment for Hotel Bill’ written on it,” said Jerry. “This is what I meant, Joy, when I said Packy was thoughtful.” Joy could not help being thrilled—despite the fact that she thought she never could be thrilled again. It was the first time in her life she had received American Beauties, and the accompanying note was in tune with the roses. “Sal will be fretful,” said Jerry; “we’d best get under way before she comes out.” “Why, where are we going?” “To find you a singing teacher. Put on your hat and fade away quietly with me.” There was a pause while Joy put the roses in the umbrella stand, and then the two stole out of the flat and down to the car line. “Father has the address of a teacher I was to go to, you know,” said Joy. Jerry threw up her hands, whereat a car stopped and they got on before she could speak. Then she exploded: “Getting the right kind of a singing teacher is more important than a safe doctor! An address that you don’t know anything about may be all right, but the chances are that the person isn’t as good as the one I’ve got lined out for you.” “You have one all picked out, then?” “Well, you can try him. Pa Graham is considered pretty good, but you’ll have to see for yourself. _Any_ teacher may be all right for a voice that’s just a voice. But your voice isn’t going to be just a voice. It’s going to be pearls and tears and bliss and agony and all that stuff—if you start on the right road and no one hammers that quality out of you.”