"I'll be back in a couple of weeks; I'll only lose three lessons and surely, Pat, you'll forgive me if I desert you for that one glimpse of my darling Nan and her man?" "I suppose so. But, Joan, don't stay long. I know how the reformed drunkard feels when he's left to his lonesome. He doubts his reformation." "Pat!" Joan felt the tug of responsibility. The next night Patricia came home with a bedraggled little dog in her arms. "Where did you find that, Pat?" Joan paused in her task of getting dinner and fondled the absurd creature. "Oh! he was browsing along like a lost soul, sniffing to find--not a scent, I wager he never had one of his own, but a possible one. Out of all the mob, Joan, he chose me! He came up, nosed around my feet, and then whined delightedly--the old fraud! I picked him up and looked in his eyes--I know the look, Joan. He might be my never-had-brother, there is a family resemblance." "Pat, how silly." "No joking, lamb. I couldn't ignore the appeal--besides, he'll keep me straight while you are away." "Pat--come with me!" Joan bent over the dog, who already showed his preference for Patricia. "I cannot, Joan. The trade is growing--I am planning an exhibition. I'm ashamed to say it, but the business is getting into my gray matter. No--go to your duty, lamb--the pup and I will get acquainted and make up for lost time." And while Joan made preparations to go to New York, and while Doris and Nancy planned to make her visit a success, something occurred that changed all their lives. It was the epidemic of influenza. The shrouded and menacing Thing approached like the plague that it was to prove itself. It was no discerner of people; its area was limitless, it harvested whence it would and, while it was named, it was not understood. David Martin ordered Doris and Nancy out of town at once. "You may not escape," he said, "but your best chance is in the open. Besides, you'll leave us freer here." "But Joan--David!" "Joan be hanged! Can't she get to Ridge House?" "Of course. But I wanted to have her here to--to justify herself. Emily Tweksbury is trying to make a tragedy of Joan. I'm afraid Ken suspects her--his awful silences are insulting--I wanted to--to show her off." "Nonsense, Doris! But this is no time for squibbling. Scoot!" "But--you, David!" "I? Oh! I'm all right. Remember I have Bud. Why, the chap is pulling up his sleeves and baring his breast to the foe. I'm going to stand close by him." Martin's eyes shone. "David, if anything should happen to you----" Doris paused. "I'll run down now and then," Martin took the thin, delicate hands in his. "I'll come--when I feel tired." "You promise, David?" "I--swear it." So Doris took Nancy away. A tearful, woe-begone Nancy who clung to Raymond with the tenacity of a love that faces a desperate situation.