Diana was more than charmed by the arrangement. The corners of her
mouth deepened as if she were also amused, but Enoch, engrossed in
seating her where the light exactly suited him, did not note the
curving lips. He did not know much about women's dress, but he liked
Diana's soft white gown, and the curious turquoise necklace she wore
interested him. He asked her about it.
"Na-che gave it to me," she said. "It was her mother's. It has no
special significance beyond the fact that the workmanship is very fine
and that the tracery on the silver means joy."
"Joy? What sort of joy?" asked Enoch.
"Is there more than one sort?" countered Diana, in the bantering voice
that Enoch always fancied was half tender.
"Oh, yes!" replied the Secretary. "There's joy in work, play, friends.
There are as many kinds of joy as there are kinds of sorrow. Only
sorrow is so much more persistent than joy! A sorrow can stay by one
forever. But joys pass. They are always short lived."
"Joy in work does not pass, Mr. Secretary," said Diana.
Enoch laid down his spoon. "Please, Miss Allen, don't Mr. Secretary me
any more."
Diana merely smiled. "Granted that one has a real friend, I believe
joy in friendship is permanent," she went on.
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