“It’s the ability to shuffle off inheritance that counts, Doris.  You have given these girls the strength and opportunity—­to shuffle.  Now, my dear, be sensible.  It is up to the girls and they’re all right.  Hold firm to your own belief, Doris.  It’s about to be proved.”

“Hear them.”  Doris dropped back.  “They are still applauding Joan.”

The next few months Doris always looked back upon as a connecting stretch of road between what she had but faintly feared and what became assured.

From the day Joan graduated she became the dominant influence in what followed, and Nancy, being non-resistant, was engulfed in the general rush of affairs; was absorbed and smilingly played her part as once she had played Joan’s accompaniment.

Joan was not more selfish than the young generally are; she had hours of noble self-renunciation and generosity.  Her ego was well developed, but it never drove her cruelly.

Doris justified what happened, when she took time to consider, by her determination to be fair to both girls and then, unconsciously focussing on Joan because Joan was always in evidence.  The girl’s vitality and joyousness were unfailing.  Everything was of interest, and she seemed to gather the flowers of life not so much for her own enjoyment as for the glory of shedding them on others.  That is what disarmed people—­this lavishness of the girl.  She gave spice to life, and that has its value.  If Nancy ever knew the natural desire to shine in her own light, not Joan’s, she smilingly hid it—­not even Doris suspected it.

After Nancy was made to understand her aunt’s state of health—­and it was, in the end, Martin who informed her—­she rose superbly to what offered, poor child, an opportunity peculiarly her own.  To her was given the sacred duty of watching the one she loved best in the world; of warding off anything that threatened her peace and comfort.  Here were power and authority and, though no one suspected, she would rule in her narrow, detached kingdom.  Nothing should defeat her.  They should all look to her!

Almost fiercely Nancy undertook her silent task.  She smiled, she learned new subtleties; she soon became the pretty barrier between Doris and any troubling thing.

With her half-afraid glance fixed upon the dazzling Joan, it was small wonder that Doris fell into the trap set for her by Martin and Nancy.

She took the girls abroad—­or was it Joan that led the way?  She considered, after reaching the little Italian town from which she had seen Meredith depart, how best to speak of Thornton.  She got so far as the telling of Meredith’s wedding in the unchanged chapel on the hill when Joan startled her by asking quite as a matter of course: 

“Is our father still alive?”

Nancy turned pale and shrank before the question, but she saw that the cool tone had controlled the situation.  Doris looked relieved instead of shocked.