Joy leaned forward, her eyes blazing with excitement. "And suppose I told you I was engaged, would you let me go to visit Phyllis, if she lived near him, and--and his people were so situated that he couldn't have me?" Grandfather was perfectly certain that Joy was no more engaged than old Elizabeth the cook was, and he went on placidly with his hypothetical case, which was also his hobby. "If I had met the young man, received him socially, even once, my child, you may be sure, under those circumstances, you might go. One has no right to interfere with----" Grandmother in the background wasn't so sure, her eager little face said, but she was a very obedient and adoring wife. Joy interrupted him. He had given her a loophole, and she was desperate to go. She couldn't wait forever for the lover! "Grandfather, I--I _am_ engaged! I met him at one of your receptions, and so did you, _quite_ socially. You--I know you must have met him, and liked him, too--everybody does." It was a terrible thing to do, and Joy's heart beat fast. But surely the Wishing-Ring Man wouldn't mind--he would never know even! And Grandfather had talked so long about giving her up at sight to that hypothetical lover, that he might almost have been said to put the wickedness into her head. And if she waited for a real one she might wander alone about the parlors till she was an old, old maid with trailing gray braids. There was a frozen silence. "En-gaged?" said Grandfather faintly. Grandfather had a code all to himself. He didn't know it, being a man, but he had. It forbade ever being taken by surprise, ever being at a loss, ever being in the wrong, or ever contradicting himself. This made for great respect, given to him by the world at large, his family, and himself; but it put him at a terrible disadvantage in things like this. He couldn't go back on what the great Alton Havenith had said for many years. Joy, shivering but desperate, knew this perfectly well, though she didn't formulate it. "You always hoped for it," she told him firmly. "I--I did," said Grandfather with an obvious discomfort, but with unabated loyalty to himself. Then he snatched at a pretext. Poor little Grandmother's, hands were opening and shutting, but she was well trained, and she didn't speak till he was through dealing with the situation. "Can your friends vouch for him socially?" Grandfather demanded. Joy's alert, frightened mind scurried about for a moment, then she plunged into further fabrications. "He's--why, Grandfather, he's their closest friend, the one they call Johnny. He--he lives near them."