Part 42 (1/2)

That night Joan pulled her shade down. She hated the stars. They looked complacent and distant. She pushed memories of Doris and Nancy resolutely from her. Her world was not their world--that was sure. If this desperate loneliness couldn't drive her to them, nothing could. She must make her own life! Lying on her hot bed, Joan thought and thought.

Of what did she want to make her life?

”I only want a decent amount of fun,” she cried, turning her pillow over, ”and I will not have strings tied to all my fun, either.”

This struck her as funny even in her misery. She sat up in bed and counted her losses--what were they?

Ridge House and that dear, sweet life--sheltered and safe. Yes; she was sure she had lost them, for she could not go back beaten before she had really tried her luck, and if she succeeded she could never have them in a sense of owners.h.i.+p.

”And I will succeed!” Even in that hard hour Joan rose up in arms.

”And I have earned enough to begin real work in the autumn.” She counted her gains. ”And I can live close to Aunt Dorrie's beautiful life even if I am not of it. And I _am_ sure of myself as dear Nancy never could be--because I have proved myself in ways that girls like Nancy never can.”

Toward morning Joan fell asleep. When she awoke it was nearly noon time and half the desert of Sunday was pa.s.sed.

Then Joan, refreshed and comforted, planned a wholesome afternoon and evening.

”I'll go out and get a really sensible dinner; take a walk in the Park, and come home and practise. Monday will be here before I know it.”

Joan carried out her programme, and it was five o'clock when she returned, at peace with the whole world.

She took off her pretty street gown and slipped into a thin, airy little dress and comfortable sandals. The sandals made her think of her dancing; she always wore them unless she danced shoeless.

”And before I go to bed,” she promised her gay little self, ”I'll have a dance to prove that nothing can down me--for long!

”I wonder--” here Joan looked serious as if a thought wave had struck her--”I wonder where Pat is?”

This seemed a futile conjecture. Patricia was too elusive to be followed, even mentally.

As a matter of fact, Patricia was, at that hour, confronting the biggest question of her life.

Heretofore she had always left her roads of retreat open, had, in fact, availed herself of them at critical periods; but this time she had, she believed, so cluttered them that they were practically impa.s.sable and she said she ”didn't care.”

The heat and her rudderless life had been too much for her; she had, too, been honestly stirred by beautiful things--although they were not hers nor could ever rightfully be hers. She had slipped into the danger, that seemed now about to engulf her, on a gradual decline.

Her connection with the Burke home life was, apparently, innocent enough at first. No one but Patricia herself sensed what really was threatening, but the conditions were ripe for what occurred.

Mrs. Burke, bent upon her own pleasure, utterly indifferent to the rights of others, was glad enough to leave her house and family to the charm of Patricia while she could, at the same time, as she smilingly declared, give a bit of happiness to that poor, gifted young creature.

The gifted young creature responded with all the hunger of her empty heart--she played with the children, who adored her; there was safety with the eyes of housekeeper and governess upon her--but when the eyes of a tired, disillusioned, and lonely man became fixed upon her, it was time for Patricia to flee. But she did not. Instead she gripped her philosophy of ”grab”--and really managed to justify it to a certain extent--while she grew thinner and paler.

On the Sunday when Joan stopped short and wondered where Patricia was, Patricia was up the Hudson awaiting, on a charming hotel piazza, the arrival of the Burke automobile.

It was sunset time and beautiful beyond words. Something in the peaceful loveliness stirred Patricia--she wished that the day were dark and grim.

It seemed incongruous to take to the down path--Patricia was not blinded by her lure--while the whole world was flooded with gold and azure.

Then Patricia's angel had a word to say.