"What isn't?" demanded a man's voice interestedly.






CHAPTER TWO

BY GRACE OF THE WISHING RING

Joy turned her head to look. She was quite sure that the speaker
couldn't see her very well, but she could see him, or the top of
him, perfectly, because he was standing in the crack of a door that
gave on to the back hall; a door few people remembered existed, as a
picture hung on it, and it gave no impression of ever being used. He
was young and broad-shouldered and sure-looking, little as she could
see of him. She could see his face as far down as the eyes, and that
was all. They were pleasant, steel-colored eyes, very amused and
direct, and his hair, in the light of the old-fashioned chandelier
behind him, glittered, fair and a little curlier than he evidently
approved of.

He slipped entirely through the door; at the same moment Joy blew
out the candle she had been holding up to Aunt Lucilla. Then she
laughed, a little shy, pretty laugh. She wished she could light it
again, to look at him, but she remembered that if she did that he
might think she _did_ want to look at him.