There was nothing more to say. But, quite naturally, several days elapsed before they saw each other again.
Fierce, broiling days without even the debilitating moisture to ease the suffering citizens.
Joan, alone in the dark, hot studio, thought of Doris and Nancy and wondered!
"Of course, what I am doing would be horrid if I didn't know all about him," and then Joan tossed about. "Some day—it will be such a lark to tell them—and think of his surprise when he—knows! I'll see him with all barriers down next winter," for at this time Joan had written and accepted all Doris's plans for her. She was to study music determinedly—she had a proud little bank account—and she would live at the old house and revel in Nancy's social triumphs.
And Raymond, in his shrouded house, had his restless hours and with greater reason, for he was playing utterly in the dark and had to acknowledge to his grim, off-standing self that, except for the fact that he was in the dark, he would not dare play the very amusing game he was playing.
"If she is masquerading," Raymond beat about with his conscience, "it's the biggest lark ever, and she and I will have many a good laugh over it."
"But if she—isn't?" demanded the shadowy self.
"Well, if she isn't, she jolly well knows how to take care of herself! Besides, I'm not going to hurt her. Why, in thunder, can't two fellow creatures enjoy innocent things without having evil suggestions?"
"They can!" thundered the Other Self, "but this isn't innocent—at least it is dangerous."
"Oh! be hanged!" Raymond flung back and the Shadow sank into oblivion.