a matter of fact, there had never been anything for her to deceive
them about. But that did not dawn on him.

There was another frozen silence. Grandfather was checkmated.

Joy had not intended to do it, of set purpose. She respected
Grandfather too thoroughly. But she was struggling for the only
piece of happiness that had ever come her way in the whole of her
placid, tranced little life.

"In that case, my dear," Grandfather pronounced slowly, "I give my
consent. What did you say the young man's name was?"

"John," she said faintly, bending her head, and coloring hotly and
suddenly. She had just remembered that the Wishing-Ring Man's name
really was Jack, and she hadn't meant to use _that_ name. That
was private.

"That makes it a little better," said Grandmother; why, Joy did not
see or know until much too late. "His name is Hewitt. You remember
Mrs. Harrington's discussing him with us, Alton." ... Then all her
obedience to Grandfather did not keep her from putting her arms
around Joy and beginning to cry.

"Oh, my dear, my dearest," she said. "Why didn't you confide in me
about it? You know I would have been so interested!"

Joy had a little lump in her throat, and she almost cried out, "I'm
not, Grandmother!"