"If only," thought Joy, acutely conscious of his firm hold, "instead of laying down the law that way, he would let go and admit that he was angry!" For he certainly was, and it wasn't at all her fault, unless going where Clarence took her was a crime. John _hadn't_ thought of dancing first. Was he the kind of person who always thought he was right even when he knew he wasn't? If so, maybe a month _was_ long enough.... But the thought of the end of the month hurt, no matter how unreasonable she tried to think John, and she threw down her arms--the only way, if she had known, to make John throw down his. "Are you angry at me?" she half whispered. "I--please don't be angry. Nobody ever was, and I don't want to be silly, but I don't believe I could stand it." He swept her rhythmically on, but she could feel his arm relax and hold her more warmly, and his wonderful gray eyes softened again as they looked into hers. "Poor little thing! I keep forgetting that you're just a child. Sometimes you aren't, you know." "No, sometimes I'm not," Joy echoed. Then she laughed up at him impishly. "You say this thing is going to be done right?" she mocked. "Very well, then, when Mr. Rutherford is nice to me you ought to be nicer. When he sits down close to me and tells me I'm a sorcerette--" "A what?" demanded John swiftly. "See here, Joy, I'm practically in charge of you, and you're very young, you know, and can't be expected to know much about men. Rutherford is attractive and all that, but he's a man I wouldn't trust the other side of a biscuit. Any man can tell you that. Allan--" "He talks just like a poet," said Joy innocently. How could John know that this was an insult, not a compliment, in Joy's mind? She had seen any amount of Clarences--ignoring her, to be sure, but still saying Clarence things to others in her hearing--all her days. "That may be," said John. "I'm no judge of poets, and I suppose you are.... See here, Joy, there's an inhabitant--two of 'em--coming in the doorway. Mother'll be wanting you to stand in a silly line and pass people along to her, or away from her, or something. Come here with me and we'll finish this. You're getting a wrong impression of what I mean." Joy found herself being steered masterfully into a little semi-dark room that opened off the long parlor. John planted her in a low chair in a corner and pulled up a stool for himself just opposite. "They won't find us for at least ten minutes, unless we wigwag. Now--what's a sorcerette?" His tone, in spite of his carelessness, betrayed a certain anxiety to learn. Joy answered him with fullness and simplicity. "A sorcerette is somebody with coloring like mine, and a cross between a seraph and a little witch," she replied innocently. "That's what Clarence said. But I _think_ he made up the name himself," she added conscientiously, as if that would be some help. John grinned a little in spite of himself.