Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/81

 mine … yeah … that's the way they act when they're in love. She's a sweet girl … I hope Gay does like her."

Joy Clay had always been friendly and respectful in her association with Gaylord, partly because she liked him, partly because she was sorry for him. But her pity was casual and the other—? Now, she didn't know. A week ago it was the same feeling she had for … oh … other boys. No, she had always liked him more than that. Idly, her hand went across the keyboard of her grand piano. She had never been bored, but this evening she considered herself the most unfortunate girl on earth.

There was a loud thump and the keys screamed discordantly at her. She ran from the room to her bedroom, stopped in front of her vanity. "Where is he?" Her lips formed the words to her but there was no sound. Her arched brows drew together and her face had an expression of almost tragic anxiety.

He can't be, she thought. He can't be with Thelma. She had never been jealous before in her life. Why should she be of that hussy … that slut!

A column of moonlight came through the thin slant-wise wooden blinds and reflected in the mirror. She went to the window, pulled back the criss-crossed curtains and looked at the moon. It looked so round and golden in the clear sky. But Joy could not think nor care nor see its beauty. Once more the old and loving thoughts, longings for Gaylord, which had ebbed when she had thought herself grown, revived. Now she remembered with aching clarity all the small separate things they used to do. How much fun it had been playing house, sewing doll-clothes. How gentle and kind he had always been. So thoughtful of her in everything he said and did. From that first day he had been that way. Her eyes swam, enchanted by the moon now, and the rage within her grew calm. She closed her lids and beheld not the Gaylord she used to know, but as he was today; the wave in his hair, the deep blue of his eyes, the smooth texture of his sunless skin, the shy timbre of his voice which gave her a real sense of physical pleasure. She remembered the small bump on his ear and wondered if it had always been there.

Words came drifting from the vision, alive and sweet, but other 71