CHAPTER XX
"It Is Felicity on Her Wings."
The old New York house was once more opened and the fountain set free. Birds sang and flowers bloomed, but Joan was not there and for a blank but silent moment both Doris and Nancy wondered if the lack were to defeat them. The moment was appalling but it passed.
Felicity brooded over them and her wings did not droop.
Martin, with his sound common sense, came to the fore among the first. He was never more alert. His nephew, Clive Cameron, was entrenched in Martin's office and home—his name, alone, shone on the new sign.
"I've flung you in neck and crop, Bud, because I believe in you and have told my patients so. Sink or swim, but you've got clear water to do it in. I'll hang around—make my city headquarters with you; lend myself to you; but for the rest I'm going to do exactly what I want to do—for a time."
Cameron regarded his uncle as the young often do the older—yearningly, covetously, tenderly.
"I—I think I understand about Miss Fletcher, Uncle Dave," he said.