“Certainly. Why not?” Joy was a little amused, thinking of the hours Jerry and Sarah accepted as a matter of course. He towered over her, acute distress in every line of his face. “Come on,” said Packy. “It’s only an hour’s run, Grant—less, at this time of night.” He followed them to the automobile, still objecting to their ride. Joy got in the car and held out her hand. “Good-bye,” she said softly. He took her hand, forgetting to release it as he whispered: “Tell me your telephone number—quick!” Packy was going around to get in at the other side, and in a heartbeat she had whispered the number. When Packy was installed, they had every appearance of finishing a casual leavetaking. Once off, Packy refused to sulk unduly over the evening, instead taking a jocose attitude which was much more trying. “Well, Joy, I might have known you were like all the rest. Don’t you think, though, that you were crowding things—to run off on a nice little party like that with someone else, the first time I take you anywhere? And after all that whiffle all the way down about how _I_ couldn’t get away with it——” Joy was stunned. She paused and weighed her words, searching for thoughts that would reach his point of view. “Coming down, you talked in a way that made me doubt whether I would ever go out with you again. Now, you are merely clinching my determination.” To her stupefaction, he immediately grew humble. “Oh, Joy, I’ll swallow everything I said. You—you can’t blame me, though. I—I know so little about you—and I’m so crazy about you. Doesn’t that make absolutely no impression?” “Why should it?” she asked wearily. “That fellow Grant Grey isn’t lingering in your mind, is he? He’s all right, but O, so stiff, Joy. Typical Bostonese family—mother’s the Gorgon of the beach. Now listen—Joy—I may be crazy about you, but I’m willing to wait if there’s any danger about mixing the drinks. Yes, I’ll wait. I won’t say any more to-night—you can sleep all the rest of the way home, providing you don’t snore. A girl ought never to get so tired as you and Jerry and Sal—bound to snore when you get that way—nothing more unromantic.” Joy counted every mile, she was so anxious to get back home and into her black walnut bed. When they finally drew up in front of the apartment house, she gave a sigh of relief. Packy laughed: “I don’t blame you,” he said. “I’ve been rotten to-night, Joy—but next time I’m absolutely the genuine blue-ribbon Pomeranian. I told you—I can wait any reasonable length of time.”