Grandfather was entirely what the profane would call up a tree. He had been giving his consent for some seventeen years. And Joy had swept the ground from under his feet. He did not in the least remember meeting this amazing lover at any of his receptions, but there had been a tradition for many years that he never forgot a name or a face. Now he _had_ been doing it for two or three seasons past, but he never admitted it to himself, and nobody else dared admit it, either. As for the truth of what Joy said, it did not occur to him to doubt that. Joy had never told them anything but the truth in her life. As a matter of fact, there had never been anything for her to deceive them about. But that did not dawn on him. There was another frozen silence. Grandfather was checkmated. Joy had not intended to do it, of set purpose. She respected Grandfather too thoroughly. But she was struggling for the only piece of happiness that had ever come her way in the whole of her placid, tranced little life. "In that case, my dear," Grandfather pronounced slowly, "I give my consent. What did you say the young man's name was?" "John," she said faintly, bending her head, and coloring hotly and suddenly. She had just remembered that the Wishing-Ring Man's name really was Jack, and she hadn't meant to use _that_ name. That was private. "That makes it a little better," said Grandmother; why, Joy did not see or know until much too late. "His name is Hewitt. You remember Mrs. Harrington's discussing him with us, Alton." ... Then all her obedience to Grandfather did not keep her from putting her arms around Joy and beginning to cry. "Oh, my dear, my dearest," she said. "Why didn't you confide in me about it? You know I would have been so interested!" Joy had a little lump in her throat, and she almost cried out, "I'm not, Grandmother!" But she had all Grandfather's pride, and--and besides, she had gone this far--how could she go back? Grandfather interposed, struggling hard with his natural surprise. "A little emotion is natural in this case, dear Jennie," he said, "but you must make allowance for a young girl's shyness. The young man, I trust, will speak to us about it." How she would explain to Phyllis had not yet occurred to Joy.... There are times when an education in all the best poets is an everlasting nuisance. _"Oh, what a tangled web we weave When first we practise to deceive!"_ danced through Joy's head.... If only those fatal first sentences hadn't popped out, and if she only hadn't been too proud to take them back! Just the same she continued to feel that a month of life off with gay, kind people her own age was worth almost any price; which was exceedingly wrong, and got Joy into a fearful mess, as amateur lying is apt to do. Because Grandfather rose up after this, with what Phyllis called his Earl of Dorincourt air, and spoke.