Joy's heart beat furiously as she knelt there, held close to his side. The little head with its great coil of glittering hair drooped. "She--she always was human," she half whispered, her throat tightening with excitement. She could feel the blood stealing up over her face. "That is no answer, Joy, my dear," he said softly. But it was at this moment that a voice behind the curtains said, "Dinner is served." Joy sprang up, but John stayed where he was, his broad shoulders and fair head bent a little forward as he looked into the blaze. She touched his arm timidly. "John--please--you must go up and see your mother before dinner." He roused himself from whatever he had been thinking of and turned to her. "I must, certainly," he replied, springing up. "I think I am answered.... Am I not, dear?" "Why, yes," said Joy with a little surprise, but as gently and confidently as ever. "I answered you. I always do what you tell me, don't I?" He touched her hair lightly and smiled for an answer as he passed her on his way up. She heard him whistling light-heartedly above, as she, too, stood staring into the fire. She hadn't thought that any one could be so very kind and lovely as John was being to her tonight. She could feel yet the pressure of his arm as he held her beside him. And it was going to last a great deal longer--weeks longer! She could be as happy and as much with him and as much to him as she wanted to. There would be Clarence's mocking love-making, too, for flattery and amusement. And when she had to go back home, at last, she would have so much happiness, so much good times, so much love to remember, that it would keep her warm and happy for years and years! When John returned, his hair damp and nearly straight with brushing, and his eyes still bright with laughter, she was sitting at the head of the table, waiting for him happily. "It's a nice world, isn't it?" she suggested like a child. "And do you like whipped cream in your tomato bisque?" "It is, and I do, very much. Am I to have it?" Joy nodded proudly, her eyes shining. "I don't know about the world, but you are going to have the whipped cream," she said, as she felt for the electric push-button in the floor with one small, circling foot. "I might as well tell you now," said John gaily, "that the bell you are trying to step on is disconnected. Mother unhooked it eight months ago, because when she was excited she always forgot and stamped on it. I think we use a glass and a knife." "Oh!" said Joy. "Well, I haven't the technique--would you?" But Nora came in with the soup just then without having been rung for, having evidently been hovering sympathetically near. "Pardon me, Doctor, but the bell is connected up," she breathed. "I hooked it up myself as soon as Mrs. Hewitt gave Miss Havenith the housekeeping."