“If she is masquerading,” Raymond beat about with his conscience, “it’s the biggest lark ever, and she and I will have many a good laugh over it.”

“But if she—­isn’t?” demanded the shadowy self.

“Well, if she isn’t, she jolly well knows how to take care of herself!  Besides, I’m not going to hurt her.  Why, in thunder, can’t two fellow creatures enjoy innocent things without having evil suggestions?”

“They can!” thundered the Other Self, “but this isn’t innocent—­at least it is dangerous.”

“Oh! be hanged!” Raymond flung back and the Shadow sank into oblivion.

Left to himself—­one of his selves—­Raymond resorted to sentiment.

“Of course we both know—­under what might be—­what is.  She’s like Kipling’s girl in the Brushwood Boy.”

But that did not take in the Other Self in the least.  It laughed.

When July came the heat settled down in earnest on the panting city.

“Aren’t you going to take any vacation?” asked Raymond.  He and Joan were sauntering up Fifth Avenue to a certain haven in a backyard where the fountain played and the birds sang.

“No.  I’m going to stay in town and let Miss Gordon have her outing.  The Brier Bush is too young to be left alone this year.  Next year it will be my turn.”

“I’m afraid you’ll wilt,” Raymond looked at the blooming creature beside him.  “Funny, isn’t it, how things turn out?  I expected to go in August to—­to that lady with whom you first saw me” (Joan looked divinely innocent); “but only yesterday she informed me that she had resolved to go abroad, and asked if it would make any difference to me.  She’s like that.  Her procedure resembles jumping off a diving plank.”

“Well, does it make any difference?” Joan asked.

“You bet it does!  It makes me free to stay in town.”

“I’m afraid you’ll wilt,” Joan twinkled.

“We must take precautions against that.”  Raymond looked deadly in earnest.

The meetings of these two were now set, like clear jewels in the round of common days.  They were not too frequent and they were always managed like chance happenings.  Always there was a sense of surprise, a thrill of unbelievable good luck attending them; but there was, also, a growing sense of assurance and understanding.

“I wonder,” Joan said once, pressing hard against the shield that protected them, “I wonder if you and I would have played so delightfully had we been—­well—­introduced!  Miss Jones and Mr. Black.”

“No!” Raymond burst in positively.  “Miss Jones would have been enveloped in the things expected of Miss Jones, and Mr. Black would have been kept busy—­keeping off the grass!”

“Aren’t you ever afraid,” Joan mused on, “that some day we’ll suddenly come across each other when our shields are left behind in—­in the secret tower?”

“I try not to think of it,” Raymond leaned toward the girl; “but if we did we’d know each other a lot better than most girls and fellows are ever allowed to know each other,” he said.