The sight that met their eyes was an interesting one. The kitchen was a pleasant sight to any one from outside, being warmed and lighted. It was further decorated by Gail, in a very low and clinging black frock trimmed with poppies, which it occurred to Joy must have been in the grip. She was sitting in absolute idleness in a kitchen chair, with her feet on a footstool, and Tiddy, swathed in an apron with pink checks, was engaged at the kitchen range. "Good work, old boy!" Clarence called out to him. "What have you got?" Tiddy turned a scarlet face toward him, and waved one hand, with a spoon in it. "Gail said there had to be a good dinner," he said worriedly, "but I don't know how to make many things. This is soup.... It doesn't look right to me, somehow. Come here, Clarence, and give it a once over." Joy, leaning against the lintel with John a little behind her as usual, couldn't help but admire Gail. She knew perfectly well that it would never have occurred to her in Gail's place to sit placidly in a chair while a lad who ought to have been at home studying-Tiddy was cramming to catch up with his class at college--wrestled with the stove. But, after all, that was the sort of thing she had always read of sirens doing. And even if the victim was only a little college boy, of what Clarence called frying size, it was a sight to make one wishful. Also apprehensive--mightn't Gail set John peeling potatoes next? That sight would be an annoying one from various angles. John showed no signs of being about to yield, at least at the moment. He joined Clarence in teasing Tiddy, who took it very sweetly, but he finally came forward and showed the lad how to manage the drafts. "Call us when you're ready, Cookie," said Clarence amiably, and sauntered out. John followed him. "Can't I help?" asked Joy, staying conscientiously behind. She still felt that it was her responsibility. "Not a bit," said Gail. "We're getting along wonderfully. You'd better go up and get straightened out, though--you look blown to bits. Oh, and send John back as you go through, Tiddy can't do the drafts right." Joy went out obediently. "John, I am to send you back as I go through. Tiddy can't do the drafts right," she repeated in a colorless voice that had anger underneath it, and walking on as she spoke. "Drafts--nonsense--Gail's lonesome," Clarence answered cheerfully, from the couch where he had thrown himself. "All right," said John, who was the soul of politeness, but an annoyingly dense person compared to Clarence, it seemed to Joy. He went out. Joy ran upstairs as fast as she could go. She arrived at the top, breathless and still angry, and remembered that she ought to go in and see Mrs. Hewitt. But the lights were low, generally a sign that the lady was asleep, so she went on to her own room.