The old-fashioned would have condemned Joan Whitworth as a minx at this moment, but would have softened the condemnation with a smile forced from them by her winning grace.
"Well, I will," replied Luttrell, and with great solemnity he asked, "How is Linda Spavinsky ?" Joan ran down the remaining steps, and dropped into a chair.

A peal of laughter, silvery and clear, and joyous rang out from her mouth.
"Oh, she's not at all well to-day.

I believe she's going.

Her health was never very stable." Then her mood changed altogether.

The laughter died away, the very look of it faded from her face.