The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. " "Irons—heavy irons—night and day. . Lucy, would you like to be my date for the silly little dance they call the Junior Prom?\" There was a pregnant pause as she digested the information. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. She would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until she could make it twenty. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe.
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