Miranda turned in amazement towards her friend. But one glance at her face showed that the prayer was made in desperate earnest. Miranda Brown caught her friend by the arm.
"Joan!"
"Yes," Joan Whitworth answered, nodding her head miserably. "That's the help I want and I want it dreadfully. Just for an hour—no more."
"Joan, my dear—what's the matter?" asked Miranda gazing into Joan Whitworth's troubled face.
"I don't want you to ask me," the girl answered. "I want you to help me straight off without any questions. Otherwise——" and Joan's voice shook and broke, "otherwise—oh, I don't know what will happen to me!"
Miranda put her arm round Joan Whitworth's waist. "Joan! You are in real trouble!"
"For the first time!" said Joan.
"Can't I——?"
"No," Joan interrupted. "There's only the one way, Miranda."
She sat down upon a couch at Miranda's side and feverishly caught her hand. "Do help me! You can't tell what it means to me!... And I should hate telling you! Oh, I have been such a fool!"