"It will all be so lonely; so terrible with Joan gone!"
That was it. The old fear of, or for, Joan had materialized—it was Life with Joan left out!
"And why should one have so much and the other so little?" asked Mary of that deep knowledge in her busy brain. "Why shouldn't they share alike—and twins at that!"
Then Mary stopped short in her thinking. Her own words took her back, back to a dark night—she was peering, aided by a dim light from within, at a baby lying in the arms of——
Mary drew her breath sharp; her thin, flat bosom heaved and her fingers clutched her gown.
David Martin had so far classified his perplexity concerning Doris as to name it "Southern fever."
"Hookworm?" Joan broke in gleefully.
Martin frowned but did not reply.
"Doris," he turned to the couch, "I must go out West." She understood. Martin never spoke openly about his family affairs. Until he was surer of that nephew of his he kept him in the background.
"Yes, David." Doris smiled up at him.