"And I will succeed!" Even in that hard hour Joan rose up in arms.
"And I have earned enough to begin real work in the autumn." She counted her gains. "And I can live close to Aunt Dorrie's beautiful life even if I am not of it. And I am sure of myself as dear Nancy never could be—because I have proved myself in ways that girls like Nancy never can."
Toward morning Joan fell asleep. When she awoke it was nearly noon time and half the desert of Sunday was passed.
Then Joan, refreshed and comforted, planned a wholesome afternoon and evening.
"I'll go out and get a really sensible dinner; take a walk in the Park, and come home and practise. Monday will be here before I know it."
Joan carried out her programme, and it was five o'clock when she returned, at peace with the whole world.
She took off her pretty street gown and slipped into a thin, airy little dress and comfortable sandals. The sandals made her think of her dancing; she always wore them unless she danced shoeless.
"And before I go to bed," she promised her gay little self, "I'll have a dance to prove that nothing can down me—for long!
"I wonder—" here Joan looked serious as if a thought wave had struck her—"I wonder where Pat is?"
This seemed a futile conjecture. Patricia was too elusive to be followed, even mentally.