“I hope you will understand.  This would be splendid if she, like Sylvia Reed, for instance, had to look to her wits to solve her life problems; but it will distract her along the path of obvious demands.

“She, I repeat, does everything too well.  She dances with inspiration; nothing less.  She sings with spirit and originality; she acts almost unbelievably well and she wins, without effort, the admiration and affection of all with whom she comes in contact.  I speak thus openly and intimately to you, Miss Fletcher, because, frankly, Joan puzzles me—­she always has.”

The letter dropped again on Doris’s lap.  Yes, Doris Fletcher did understand.  She saw Joan, not as she was, a tall young creature radiantly facing life, but as a tired little child in this very room stepping’ defeated from the fountain, because she could not make her desires come true!  She was listening to the old plaint:  “I have used the old games—­I want something new!”

Yes, Doris understood, and sitting alone, she vowed that Joan should not be defrauded of her own, by misdirected love, prejudice, or luxury.

“She shall have her chance!”

Then it was that something happened.  Things—­stopped!

For a moment Doris was conscious of making an effort to set them going again.  She glanced at the clock—­that had stopped!  The fountain no longer played; nor did the birds sing!

A black silence presently engulfed the whole world.  At last Doris opened her eyes—­or had they been open during the eternity when nothing had occurred?  She glanced at the clock, a trivial thing against the carving of the wall, but upon whose face Truth sat faithfully.  Two hours had passed since she had noticed the clock before!

“But—­I have been thinking a long time, planning for the children; reading the letter——­” Doris sought to establish a normal state of affairs—­she saw the letter lying at her feet, but did not bend to pick it up.

“Only a faint.  But I have never fainted before!” she thought on.

She was not frightened, not even excited.  She felt as if she had simply come upon something that she had always known was on the road ahead awaiting her.  She had come upon it sooner than she had expected to, that was all.  She did not want to pass into the silence again if she could help it, so she lay back in the chair quietly, guardedly, and waited.

Then she heard steps.  Outside the family only one person came unannounced to the sunken room and gladly, thankfully, Doris turned her eyes and met David Martin’s as he paused at the doorway above.

Martin had himself in control before Doris noticed the fear in his eyes.  He came slowly to her, sat down beside her and, while simply taking her hand in greeting, let his trained touch fall upon her pulse.  It told him the dread secret, but it did not shatter his calm—­he even smiled into the pale face and said lightly: