It must be dull, when you
were as old as mother, coming to these dances--and especially when you had
so few friends. Her mother had never made many friends.
"Wasn't that Mr. Morris who was talking to you just now?"
"Yes, dear."
"I like him. He looks kind."
"Yes, dear."
"And where's father?"
"Over there, talking to Lady St. Leath."
She looked across, and there he was, so big and tall and fine, so splendid
in his grand clothes. Her heart swelled with pride.
"Isn't he splendid, mother, dear?"
"Who?"
"Father!"
"Splendid?"
"Yes; doesn't he look splendid to-night? Better looking than all the rest
of the room put together?" (Johnny wasn't _good-looking_. Better than
_good-looking_.)
"Oh--look splendid. Yes. He's a very handsome man."
Joan felt once again that little chill with which she was so often
familiar when she talked with her mother--a sudden withdrawal of sympathy,
a pushing Joan away with her hand.
But never mind--there was the music again, and here, oh, here, was Johnny!
Someone had once called him Tubby in her hearing, and how indignant she
had been! He was perhaps a little on the fat side, but strong with it.
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