Doris smiled.  In the growing conviction that Joan had indeed come back to her she was happy and content.  She rarely rebelled now.  Her one great adventure was turning out perfectly; she was thankful she had taken David Martin’s advice and kept her secret.  She had been fair; she had made no personal claims, but she had done what Martin had once suggested that all mothers should do—­“point out the channel and keep the lights burning.”  There were moments when she wished that Joan were more communicative—­but she must accept what was offered.  Nancy had gone forth radiant to her chosen life and Joan had come back—­not defeated but clearer of vision.  What more could any woman ask of her children?  Her children!

Doris bent and touched Joan’s pretty hair.

“I love to think of the look on Ken’s face and Nancy’s,” she said.

“Yes, Aunt Dorrie, it was wonderful.  Your opening the window and letting the west light in did the trick.  It was inspiration—­nothing less.”

Doris nodded, recalling why she had opened the window—­Meredith had seemed nearer!

“You sang beautifully, Joan,” for Joan had sung at Nancy’s request a wedding hymn.  “Your voice has gained a richness, dear.  Next winter——­”

“Yes—­Aunt Dorrie!” Joan broke in nervously, then suddenly she dropped on her knees by Doris’s chair and said softly: 

“Aunt Dorrie, I’m going to ask some very—­queer questions.  You see, while I was away—­I missed a lot—­and I want to catch up.

“If—­if—­Nan hadn’t loved Ken, wouldn’t you and Uncle David have wanted her to care for Clive Cameron?”

Joan felt that Nancy had garnered all that she had sown during her learning time, and often the thought made her lonely, detached her from them.  She believed that Cameron’s absence from the wedding covered a hurt that her loved ones hid from her.

“Yes, Joan,” Doris replied very simply, “but—­we feel now that it is best as it is.”

“Why, Aunt Dorrie?”

“I cannot explain.  When you meet Clive Cameron”—­Joan winced—­“you will understand.”

“Did—­did Clive Cameron—­care?”

Doris laughed.

“No.  It was quite comic, Joan, the whole proceeding.  Mrs. Tweksbury, Uncle David, and I played matchmakers with a vengeance—­but we bungled frightfully, and then Clive Cameron wedged his big body in between Nancy and several young men who might have made trouble, and—­and—­” Doris thought for an illuminating word.  Then—­“whistled Ken on!”

“Why, that’s awfully funny, Aunt Dorrie—­I rather imagined that Ken plunged!”

“No, he always felt attracted by Nancy—­she was wonderfully attractive to men, Joan, but I honestly believe it was Clive who made Ken realize.  Ken is the slow, sure sort; while Clive is rather devastating, you know.  He doesn’t waste time or energy—­when he sees his way he goes!  He is very like what his uncle was when I first knew him—­only surer of himself.”  Doris’s lips trembled.