Joan tried not to look—­but ended in looking.

“No,” she replied.  “I reckon it only comes in the right hand with anybody.”

“No, it doesn’t; the lady I was with the other day hadn’t it in either hand!”

“Isn’t she lucky?” Joan laughed.

“No, she isn’t!” Raymond spoke solemnly.  “Only the people who have it—­are.”

“I’m going now.”  Joan got up; and so did Raymond.

“See here,” he said, bluntly.  “I’ve never had a bit of adventure in my life—­I’m a stick.  I don’t know what you will think of me; I don’t care much; but you’ve started something in me; it’s nothing I’m ashamed of, either, and you needn’t be afraid.  But won’t you talk to me some time—­about—­well, this stunt and some other things?”

“Certainly not!” Joan drew back and added:  “and I am not in the least afraid.”

CHAPTER XIV

“But after it comes our lives are changed.”

And just when winter was turning to spring in the southern hills something happened to Nancy.

The winter at Ridge House had revealed many things.  It had been lonely, and it had brought conviction about Joan’s absence.  The girl was not coming back to them, that must be an accepted fact.  She would, undoubtedly, when she became adjusted, return on visits—­but they must not expect her as a fixture, for she was succeeding!  This realization had caused Doris many silent hours of thought, but never once had she known bitterness or a sense of injustice.  Joan had as much right as any other human soul to her own development.  Doris was glad that Joan had never known what Nancy knew about the need for coming to The Gap.  The knowing would have held Joan back.  With Nancy it was different.  Nancy was not held from anything she wanted.

David Martin spent as much time as he could at Ridge House.  He came to the hard conclusion, at length, that Doris, in her new environment, had reached her high-water mark.  Detached from strain and care, living quietly, and largely in the open, she had responded almost at once—­to her limit, and there she remained.  How long this improved state would hold was the main thing to be considered; nothing more comforting could be looked for.

“Then, what next?” thought David, and his jaw grew grim.

And Nancy, with a winter far too quiet and uneventful even for her, had contrived to do some thinking for herself.  Not for the world would the girl have accepted Joan’s choice.  The safe and sheltered life was wholly to her taste, but she wanted others to fall into line.  Like many another, she was not content to hold her own views, she was unhappy unless she was approved and imitated.  She wanted the spice and thrill of Joan in her life; Joan was part of it all—­the rightful part.  With this Nancy took to self-pity in order to establish her claim.

“Why should I be taken for granted and be obliged to give up all the fun and brightness while Joan does as she pleases?”