The Studio is perfect—­north side full of windows; south side full of fireplace; your room and mine on the east; stars and sunlight on tap from the windows.  We are on top of the city and nothing hinders our view.  We walk up and none come but those worthy of us—­come, Joan, you always said that you would.

Your future will be blasted unless you break away from your rich relatives.  Nothing is such a curse as that which prevents you proving yourself; you remember about the poem which dealt with proving your soul?—­how you spouted it.  I know that you are gifted, child, but the world doesn’t.  If we fail, you at least can, after you pay proper respects to my remains, go back to that adorable aunt of yours and flop in the lap of luxury—­but make the attempt to reach glory first.

    I suppose Nan will raise a ladylike dust—­but come!  Come
    empty-handed—­it’s the only honest way.  Come prepared to eat your
    bread by the sweat of your brow—­or go hungry.

    I bet your aunt will see the squareness of this offer if you put it
    right.  Come!

The light broadened outside—­the little chapel was flooded with the golden glow.

Even while her heart sank and grew heavy, Doris was moved with an almost terrible understanding of the girl across the room.  She wanted to push her on her way instead of holding her back, and at the same time she was striving to clutch her as she went her way.

Yes, that was it.  Joan was already started; nothing could hold her back—­but still the battle waged, while Doris smiled tremblingly.

“I know, Aunt Dorrie, I know.  It hurts—­but—­but—­oh! listen, dear.  This seems my chance; perhaps it isn’t—­but I can never know until I try.  Dearie—­I will do just what you say.  I will, and I will think you right.  I want so much to try and find out what is in me that I—­I cannot see clear.”

For a moment Doris could not see the girl across the room.  The sunlight fell full on her, and hid her, rather than revealed her.

“I’ll try to be worthy of your faith in me, darling.  Go on.”  Doris spoke quietly.

They did not come together physically, these two.  They felt no need of the affectionate human contact; it was more one soul reaching out to another with courage and honesty.

Doris listened, following closely.  People and places became visualized as Joan spoke.  Sylvia Reed with her strong, purposeful face and eyes of a young prophet; the new nest of genius where the brave creature, believing in herself, waited for another in whom she trusted and for whom she held a deep-founded affection.  Doris felt her way in silence—­relinquishing, loving, fearing, but never blinded.  She knew the moment’s pain of disappointment caused by the realization that with all her love and riches she had not, for the time being, anything to offer this untried soul that could lure it from its vision.