“And that?” asked Joan as they glided away again among the dancers.

Kenny threw back his head and his eyes laughed.

“A robin singing in a blackthorn!”

Joan smiled at the boyish sparkle of his face.  He was so charmingly, so irresponsibly young and gay.

His Bohemia of success she found a startling triumph.

“Joan’s horribly disturbed,” Ann telephoned in the morning.  “As her guardian you’ll have to settle a number of infatuated young men.  The telephone’s been ringing all morning.  I think it’s a case of ’The line forms on the right, gentlemen, on the right!’”

Kenny faced the problem with his fingers in his hair.

“Who’s bothering her?” he demanded bluntly.

“The Art Students’ League,” said Ann demurely, “the Federation of Arts,
National Society of Portrait Painters, Architectural League, Watercolor
Society, Authors’ League and the Prince who thinks he’s a playwright.”

“He’s a piece of cheese!” said Kenny in intense disgust.  “What did Joan think of him?”

“She said she didn’t like him nearly so well as the art student who plays a banjo in the orchestra because he needs the money.  Peggy knows him.”

“That was wholesome,” admitted Kenny.  “But I don’t think much of him either.  He has absolutely no right when he’s playing a banjo commercially to recognize the girls on the floor.  I’ll be over to lunch.”

It was a nerve-racking hour for Ann.  Kenny, pensive, ate but little.  He seemed very sorry for himself and eyed Joan with melancholy tenderness.  When at last the dreadful subject was broached, Ann stoutly defended everybody.

Frantic, Kenny pushed back his plate and began to stride around.

“Sit down,” said Ann.  “You’re making everybody nervous.  Of course you don’t blame Joan.  And of course you can’t blame—­”

“I’m not blaming anybody,” sputtered Kenny.  “That club is a hot-bed of shallow-minded, impressionable, fickle-minded boobs.  I can see plainly that we’ll have to be married to-day.  To-morrow at the latest.”

“Kenny, please!” said Joan and the conflict began.

Finding the year still strongly in her mind, he surrendered with a sigh, hurt and unhappy, remembering his vow that Joan’s happiness should be the religion of his love.

“Oh, you dear foolish people!” cried Ann in despair.  “Why don’t you announce your engagement in the Times and discourage the line once and for all?”

“Of course!” said Kenny and looked at Joan.

“I shouldn’t mind at all,” said Joan, coloring.

Whereat Kenny called up the Times office, and the Holbein Club went mad with delight.  Jan, without meaning to, got very drunk and shocked himself, and Margot made the ring.  She did not know why Kenny wanted the golden circlet barred crosswise like a frail ladder.  Nor why he insisted upon a cluster of wistaria set in amethysts.