"Incidentally," said John with concern in his voice, "it's about all anybody can do for you till the weather changes; that and being careful of your diet." "Yes, and I got it this morning standing out in the damp and chill, watching you out of sight. Watching people out of sight is unlucky, anyway," said his mother. "I might as well say it, if you won't. And I don't expect to be able to get up tomorrow, which is Thursday." "Thursday?" asked John, sitting down on the couch at the foot of the bed. "Is Thursday some special feast?" "Thursday's the cook's day out, usually," explained Joy practically. "But she doesn't need to worry. Dear, if you'll tell me what to do----" "Usually Nora attends to things that day," explained Mrs. Hewitt sadly, but with a trace of hope in her voice, "but tomorrow she has a funeral she must attend. Quite a close funeral, she explained to me; the remains was a dear friend!" Joy smiled down on Mrs. Hewitt like a Rossetti angel. "You don't need to worry a bit," she consoled. "How many meals will she be gone?" "Only one," Mrs. Hewitt told her, with what was obviously a lightened heart. "Dinner." "Just dinner for us three? Why, I can manage that easily," said Joy confidently. "At least--I hope I'll suit. I really can cook." "You blessed angel! Of course you'll suit!" said Mrs. Hewitt. "I'm so glad. John _does_ like good meals." She moaned a little, rather as if it was a luxury, and turned cautiously over. "You don't have to stay with me any longer, children," she said. "The last responsibility is off my conscience. And I may state, in passing, John, that I never imagined you had sense enough to pick out anybody as satisfactory as Joy." They both laughed a little, and then John said, abruptly, that he had to go soon, and swept Joy off with him. Outside the door he stopped short. "See here, Joy, you mustn't do things like that," he said abruptly. "You're a guest, not a maid." She set her back against the closed door they had just emerged from and looked up at him. "Please let me go on playing," she begged him with a little break in her voice. "You know I never had any mother to speak of, any more than she had any daughter, and--and--please!" He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face to look at it keenly. "Do you really like her so, child?" he said. Joy hoped he would not feel her cheek burn under his touch. "Yes," she answered simply. "And--and now I must go and plan a dazzling menu, please, and look in the icebox without hurting the cook's feelings. It's a case of, 'Look down into the icebox, Melisande!' as Clarence Rutherford would put it." But she did not say the last sentence aloud. She only laughed as the phrase presented itself to her. "Now, what are you laughing at?" demanded John.