For a moment there was silence broken only by Patricia’s sniffs.  Then: 

“What do your folks say about it, Joan?”

“I haven’t sent the big letter yet—­it’s written.  I don’t want them to say anything until I’m fixed.  I only told them of our leaving New York.”

“Whew!” ejaculated Patricia.  “You certainly run your career free-handed.”

“Aunt Dorrie will take it like the darling she is,” Joan mused on, “and she’ll make Nan and Doctor Martin see it.  When she gave me my chance she did not tie a string to me—­not even the string of her love.  We understand each other perfectly.”

“I suppose you know,” Patricia gave a sigh, “but I don’t think an explanation would hurt any and I don’t want her to blame me more than I deserve, Joan.”

“Blame you, Pat?  Why, how could she?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  She might get to thinking on her own hook if you don’t give her the facts.  Joan, send the letter at once!”

So Joan dispatched the letter, and it had the effect of depressing Nancy to an alarming degree and, in consequence, of spurring Doris to renewed effort.

She was perturbed by the lack of what she knew.  She had her doubts of Patricia; the sudden flight had an aspect of rout—­what did it mean?

Her reply to Joan, however, was much what Martin’s would have been to his nephew.

She accepted and took on faith what Joan had explained—­or failed to explain.

She laid emphasis on plans for the coming winter and referred to Joan’s promise to give herself seriously to her music.

“Either in New York or there, my dear, begin your real work.  It is all well enough to look about before you decide, but there is a time for decision.”

This letter put Joan on her mettle.

“Pat, I’m going to begin as soon as we’ve settled,” she declared, and her wet eyes shone.  “Aunt Dorrie is quite right.”

The girls finally secured four pretty, sunny rooms overlooking the lake, and reverently selected the furniture for them.

“Let’s get things artistic,” Patricia wisely explained, “we’ll make the place unique and then”—­for Patricia always left, if possible, a way open for retreat—­“if we should ever want to dispose of it, we’d have a good market.”

But as the days passed it looked as if the venture were turning out better than one could have hoped.  Joan had never felt so important in her life, and, to her surprise, developed possibilities never suspected before.  She prepared for Patricia’s homecomings with the keenest delight.  The cozy, charming little dinners, the evenings by the open fire—­for they had selected the rooms largely on account of the fireplace—­or the occasional theatre or concert grew in delight.  Patricia was the merriest of comrades, the most appreciative of partners.  She also, to her own surprise, became deeply interested in her work and, while the hours and confinement sometimes irritated her, her field of invention was wide enough to employ her real talent, and her success was assured from the first.