The waiter brought their first course, and Grant began to talk of impersonal matters. Why, oh, why, had they chosen such a place as this for their first meeting? Joy thought. He had not once looked at her—the way he had always looked at her, before. When the waiter had taken their plates away, they met each other’s eyes steadily for almost the first time that evening, and Grant’s face softened. “You look rather tired to-night, Joy darling,” he said. “Whatever on earth have you been doing to yourself? You work too hard on your singing.” “Oh, no, Grant—I’ve been neglecting it really—I’ll have to work much harder to get it where I want it——” “You sing well enough for me already—and after you belong to me, you’ll not have to peg away at it any more.” He attacked his salad; the subject was closed as far as he was concerned. She was gazing at him wide-eyed. “You mean you wouldn’t want me to—oh, of course—you—wouldn’t.” She moved her fork in and about her salad aimlessly. Her mother had forgotten her voice—when she had met the man she loved. She had forgotten it, in the rapture of _belonging_ to him—that phrase had such an unpleasant sound. And the generations before her mother had forgotten their voices for those they loved. She was the result; and all the repression of generations lay within her—simmering. She gave Grant a sudden alive, direct glance. This was the man she loved and she had not forgotten her voice. How could this be? He must teach her—teach her to forget—and not make her so vaguely unhappy over such immaterialities as Jim Dalton. “Hi, Joy! Cheerio, old dear!” She jerked her head up from contemplation of nothing to see Davy Carter and Wigs Smith, Jerry’s and Sarah’s most competent playmates, with some other youths, hailing her boisterously while passing to a table close by. She managed a smile from her abstraction, and fell to pushing her fork about again. “You seem to have an unlimited supply of casual young men acquaintances,” came from across the table in a voice that weirdly reminded Joy of Mrs. Grey’s chill blue eyes. “Grant, what a silly attitude to take!” she exploded. “There are nineteen years in which you have not known me. It certainly would be strange if in that time I had met no other men——” She realized just that fatal fraction of an inch too late, that she had said the wrong thing, and stopped, leaving the appeal in mid air, where it stayed. His face had queerly altered, and the air tingled with silence. “Let’s go,” he said finally, in an even tone; “that is, if you do not care to eat any more.” She had eaten practically nothing throughout the dinner; but it was so different from the day when they had both lost their appetites! As they came through the dining room, Joy collided with a showily-dressed woman who was entering with a large, greasy-looking man. There had been sufficient room for them both to pass, but Joy’s mind had been far away. The woman drew back and raised a monocle upon her.