There it was—The Ship! Sails set and the western light full upon it.
For a moment Joan gazed, trying to remember the old superstition. Then her face grew tender.
"Whatever happens," she murmured, "it shall not happen to Nancy. I've spoiled enough of her plays—she shall not be hurt now."
The thought held all the essentials of a prayer and it gave an uplift.
Then Joan turned to her toilet. Recalling Patricia's theory about the artistic helps to one's appearance, she worked fervently with her slim little body and delicate face.
A bit of fluffing and the lovely hair rose like an aura about the smiling face. The eyes did not seem too large when one smiled—so Joan practised a smile! The gowns, one by one, were laid out upon the bed and regarded religiously; finally, one was chosen that Patricia had loved.
"My lamb," Joan recalled the words and look, "a true artist knows her high marks. This gown is a revealment of my genius."
It was a pale blue crêpe, silver-touched and graceful; a long, heavy, silver cord held it at the waistline, and the loose, lacy sleeves made the slim arms look very lovely.
"If ever I needed bucking, Pat, dear, I need it now!" whispered Joan, and her eyes dimmed.
She heard the pleasant bustle below; the light laughter, the cheery calls. She heard Raymond's voice when he greeted Nancy—it startled her by its familiarity and its strangeness.