They were lovers; anybody could see that. And they weren't poets or anything of the sort; you could see that, too. _She_ was in a little trim white pongee street suit, with a close little hat above a little rosy, powdered, cheerful face. _He_ had rather heavy shoulders and a shock of carefully brushed straight light hair, and looked about one year out of Harvard. They didn't at all belong with the middle-aged roomful. As a matter of fact, _her_ mother knew Mrs. Havenith a little, and so they had dashed in here to save her suit from the rain. They were sitting and smiling at each other against a background of Mark Twain's life-sized head in a broad gilt frame. They faced another life-sized head of Browning, also autographed, but they liked looking at each other better. Joy, from her hiding-place, could feel the current of their happiness and youth, and it made her very warm in her soul, and comfortable. She listened to them quite unashamedly, as she would have to a nice play. "She has wonderful hair, hasn't she?" she heard the girl say. "Not as lovely as my girl's," the man answered softly. His girl laughed, a little low pleased laugh. "But you can't see mine hanging down that way, like a picture," she fenced. "I'm glad you don't wear it that way," he insisted. "I like you to look like a real girl, not a movie star or an advertisement." "Do you suppose she likes it?" asked the girl. "I'd go crazy if I had to be like that--why, she isn't as old as I am! I suppose they write poems about her, though," she added, as if that might be a compensation. "Oh, if _that's_ all--" began the man, and they both laughed happily, as at a wonderful joke. Joy, frozen behind her curtains, heard a little rustle, as if he was taking her hand, and her protest-- "Oh, Dicky, don't--they'll see us!" "Not a bit," said he cheerfully. "They're all looking at dear Grandpapa, the Angora Poet--oldest in captivity to be reading his own sonnets. Bet you it's about the little girl, poor kid--he seems to be looking around for her." "Sonnets? Oh, let's go; the rain's stopped," whispered the girl. "You were awfully extravagant this afternoon. Now we're going to take a nice, inexpensive walk up home."