seemed to shift and rotate backward. But her mind still intoned its own jubilee: If Phyllis loves him, I can love George. It's all right for me to love George. Be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors!
"Bunny Richmond, of course. She's playing some kind of hide-and-seek round here. It's not fair."
"It is fair!" cried Bunny passionately. He could hear her calling to him from somewhere just round the corner of the path. "Oh, Martin, Martin, can't you see? I can't tell you, you've got to find out for yourself."
Bunny had cried out so eagerly that even Joyce almost heard her. She turned to look.
"What was that, someone whispering?"
"It's only Bunny," he said impatiently. "She's playing tricks on me. She wants me to go away."
Joyce had stepped out of the shadow, and now Martin partly saw.
"Why, I know who you are. Why . . . why, of course. They called you Miss Clyde, that fooled me. You're not Miss Anybody, you're Joyce . . . the one who gave me the mouse. You don't love me too, do you? People only love you when they want you to do things."
