"And her grandmothers," Joan broke in, "made her! Just think of it! And you and I must carry on the tradition—at least you must—I'm afraid I'll have to be a quitter. It makes me too hot."
"You'll never be a quitter, you splendid Joan!" Nancy turned her face to Joan—— the old love had grown with the years, "You are splendid, Joan—everyone adores you."
But Joan did not seem to hear. Suddenly she said:
"Now do you know, Nan, I hate to go across the ocean this summer. It seems such a waste of time. I am eager to begin."
"Begin what, Joan?"
"Begin to live."
"You funny Joan, what have you been doing since you were born?"
"Waking up, Nan, and stretching and learning to stand alone. I'm ready now to—to walk. I dare say I'll wobble, but—I don't care—I want to begin."
A sense of danger filled Nancy—she often felt afraid of Joan, or for Joan, she was not sure which it was.
"I think you'll do nothing that will trouble and disappoint Aunt Dorrie," she said, using the weapon of the weak.