Peter gasped. "Cora! In the name of all decency--"

Joy, with admirable aplomb, laughed gayly. "Why, Uncle Peter! So it's
that kind of research! And no wonder it's top-secret!"

Uncle Peter's frantic attention was upon the girl. "I was never so
mortified--"

She raised her hair-line eyebrows. "Why the beef, Winky? Aren't we
among friends?"

"Never mind! Never mind!" Uncle Peter fell back upon his dignity--having
nothing else to fall back on--and said, "Homer--Joy--this is Cora, my
ah--assistant. She was ah--in the process of taking a shower, and--"

Joy reached forth and pinched Uncle Peter's flaming cheek. "It's all
right, uncle dear. Perfectly all right. And I'll bet this chick can give
a terrific assist, too."

I felt the scene should be broken up at the earliest possible moment. I
steered Joy toward the door. I said, "We'll see you later, then, Uncle
Peter."

"And you too, Miss Courtney," Joy cut in. "Make Winky bring you and
don't bother to dress. The reception is informal."

I got Joy out the door but I couldn't suppress her laughter. "Winky,"
she gasped. "Oh, my orange and purple garter-belt!"

* * * * *

We will proceed now, to the reception, which was given by my Aunt
Gretchen in the big house on Shore Drive. We were married at City Hall
and--after a delicious interlude while the cab was carrying us
cross-town--we arrived there, a happy bride and groom.

I am indeed fortunate to have wooed and won such a talented and
beautiful girl as Joy. A graduate of Vassar, she is an accomplished
pianist, a brilliant conversationalist, and is supercharged with a
vitality and effervescence which--while they sometimes manifest in
disturbing ways--are wonderful to behold. But more of that later.

The reception began smoothly enough. The press was satisfactorily
represented, much to Aunt Gretchen's gratification. Joy and I stood at
the door for a time, receiving. Then, tiring of handshakes and
congratulations, we retired to the conservatory to be alone for a few
minutes.

Or so we thought.

Almost immediately, Aunt Gretchen ferreted us out. Aunt Gretchen has
long-since lost the smooth silhouette for which the Nicholas women are
noted. She has broadened in all departments and she came waddling along
between banks of yellow roses in a manner suggesting an outraged circus
tent.

"Homer," she called. "Homer!"

I reluctantly took my hands away and answered her.

"Oh, there you ar