Clarence couldn't very well do or say anything to his host, but he looked far from pleased as John took Joy's hand and quietly led her into line. Tiddy came up just then with a pretty, dark little girl whom he had selected with great judgment from the guests as being just of a height between Joy and Gail. He had also enlisted the orchestra, for it began to play "La Cinquantaine" as they all took their places facing each other. They were all laughing, even Clarence. The guests, catching the spirit of the thing, began to laugh and applaud, and--it seemed like magic that it could be done so swiftly--formed two more sets in the rest of the room, while the elders, against the wall, watched approvingly. "I thought nobody but me danced minuets any more," Joy whispered to John as, her eyes alight with happiness, she crossed him in the changes of the lovely old dance. "There happened to be a historical pageant here last summer," he explained to her, "and there were eight minuet sets in the Revolutionary episode, so we had to learn. Mother hounded me into it. I'm glad now she did." "Why?" inquired Joy innocently the next time she met him. "I like to maintain my rights," he answered with a little gleam of fun in his eyes. But Joy felt fairly certain that the gleam of fun had behind it a gleam of decision. Certainly John's motto was, "What's mine's mine!"--even when it was rented. They finished to applause, and as the orchestra ended its minuet it slid on into a modern dance, and so did each of the couples, dancing on out on the floor. Joy sank down at the end of the waltz on a seat by the wall, with John beside her. He bent over her. "Having a good time, kiddie?" he asked her gently. She nodded, her eyes like stars. "Oh, I'm _people_, at last!" she said with a soft exultance. "I've always looked on and looked on, like a doll or a mechanical figure--and I'm real--I'm in the midst of things! And it's all you and the wishing ring! ... John, did you see? Your people--they really liked me!" "Of course they did, you little goosie," he told her, smiling down at her. "You have more personal charm than almost any girl I ever knew. I don't know any one who doesn't like you." "Gail doesn't," Joy ventured. John shook his head. "You don't understand Gail," he said. "She's a mighty brilliant girl. She doesn't often like other girls, I admit that--but she took to you. I could see it." "Could you?" flashed Joy. "Men see so much! ... She's beckoning to you." She flung her head back angrily. Nobody likes to be told she doesn't understand another girl--and the fact that the girl is mighty brilliant doesn't make you feel better about it. "I'll be back in just a moment," said John obliviously, and went with what seemed to Joy unnecessary docility.