It might have been a half hour later when she heard soft, stealthy footsteps in the hall. She sat quite still, believing that one of the children was hiding and that the other would be on the trail immediately. The small intruder passed through the library and went into the sunken room.
Doris, herself unseen, looked from behind her shelter and saw that it was Joan, and before she could call to her she was held silent by what the child proceeded to do.
Deftly, quickly she disrobed and stood in her pretty, childish nakedness in the warm room.
For a moment she poised and listened, then she stepped over the rim of the fountain, took the exact attitude of one of the figures, and with rapt, upturned face became rigid.
It was wonderfully lovely, but decidedly startling. Still Doris waited.
The water dripped over the small body; Joan's lips were moving in some weird incantation, and then with the light all gone from her pretty face she came out of the basin, pulled her clothing on as best she could, and flung herself tragically in a deep chair.
For a moment Doris thought the child was crying, but she was not. Her limp little body relaxed and the eyes were sad.
Doris rose and went to the steps.
"Why are you here alone, Joan?" she asked.
Quite simple the reply came: