Grandmother was very glad to see her. They snatched a minute in a dark corner before they had to go on seeing guests. Joy found herself going up and down the room saying courteous things to people in just the old way. They were not surprised to see her. Perhaps they had scarcely noticed that she had been away. "It's the same old cat--I've only been away three hours," she reminded herself with a little rueful smile. Then she saw a shy-looking couple over in the corner, and went over, to try to put them at ease.... She wouldn't have thought about people being shy or needing putting at ease before she went away!... "Something _has_ happened to me," thought Joy. Then she thought what it was. Why, she was doing the way John would have done--thinking about other people's feelings, not her own, for one minute. It felt warm in her heart. She had that for a keepsake from John, anyway. But she found she was making a mistake to think about John. After a half-hour of moving about the long parlors she fled. The little dark place in the back hall was just the same. Six weeks, naturally, had not altered it. She sat down on the bottom step in a little heap, with her face in her hands, under Aunt Lucilla's triumphant picture. She remembered it above her, but she did not want to look at it. "I wish you hadn't egged me on, Aunt Lucilla," she said most unfairly from between her hands. She did not know how long she had sat there, when she heard a little squeak, and looked up with her heart jumping. It sounded like the squeak doors make that haven't been opened for--say--six weeks or two months.... There in the ray of light from the chandelier in the room behind, the light glinting on his fair curly hair, he stood as he had stood before, the wishing-ring man. For a moment Joy thought she was seeing something that wasn't so. Then she looked down. The ring was on her finger still, not on his. And he was not a vision. He was a human man, a man she knew and loved. And he did not smile at her this time, as the vision would have done, in a quizzical, stranger-friendly fashion, and stand still. He was over at her side in one swift step, and he had both her hands tight, as if they belonged to him, and he was talking to her in a loving, scolding voice, as people only talk to you when you belong to them and they to you. "Joy! You very naughty little girl, to run away this way!" For a minute she only wanted to cling to his hands and tell him how glad--how glad she was to see him, and how nothing else in the whole beautiful world mattered at all. But she remembered she mustn't. "You told Gail. You might have known she'd shame me before everybody if she could. She doesn't care.... Oh, John, how could you?" She held on to him hard for comfort even while she was reproaching him. He looked down at her in the half-light, then, as if he was fairly content with what he saw in her face, closed the door behind him. They could still see each other enough to talk.