"Joan--who was Pat?" That seemed to be the vital thing now. And then Joan told him. As she spoke in low, trembling tones, she saw his head bow in his hands; she knew that he was suffering with her, for her; as good men do for their women. Joan was conscious of this attitude of Raymond's--she was reinstated; fixed, at last, where she could be understood: she belonged to his world! "Poor little girl! After the beast in me dashed your card house to atoms you made another try--alone!" Raymond raised his face. "No--I had Pat." At that instant Patricia symbolized the link between the unreal and the real. "Yes, for a little while--but, Joan, it didn't pay--the danger you ran and all that--did it? Such girls as you cannot afford such experiences." "Yes. Having had Pat, I am able to see--wider." Joan was thinking of the girls whom Raymond could _not_ have understood or sympathized with! Girls such as she might so easily have been like--unless---- Unless what? "Joan, you and I always said we could speak plain truth, didn't we?" Kenneth's words brought her back. "Of course!" "Well," Raymond dropped his eyes and flushed, "you really didn't care--not in the one, particular way, did you? It was only play; you meant that?" "It was only play, Ken. The suffering came because we did not know what we were playing with. It's the not knowing that matters." "Joan, you have seen the worst in me----?" "Yes, and the best, Ken. It was like seeing you come back from hell--unharmed." "Do you think I should tell Nancy? Put her on her guard? There _is_ something in me----" At this Joan leaned forward with a new light on her face--it was the maternal taking shape. "No, Ken, you must _not_ tell Nan. With her it is the _not_ knowing that matters. She must be guarded; not put on guard. I know now that Nan will be safe with you; I wasn't sure before; but if you raised a doubt in her mind all would go wrong. She was always like that." "But----" for a moment a beaten terror rose in Raymond's eyes. Joan nodded bravely to him. "You and I, Ken, must never give fear a chance. Once we know, we must not turn back." She stood up, looking tall and commanding. Raymond rose also and took her hands. "You're great, Joan," he said, "simply great. You understand--though how you do, the Lord only knows. "Joan!" Raymond flung out the question that was tormenting him. "Joan, why didn't we--care the other way?" "I think," Joan looked ancient, but pathetically young, "I think men and women don't, when they understand too well. And the line in our hands explains that, perhaps," she smiled wanly. "You see, Miss Jones and Mr. Black are--paying!" "Joan, go now, dear. Others might not understand." Raymond at that moment grimly shut the door on his one playtime! "And you--would hate to have them misunderstand about me--for Nancy's sake?" "No, Joan, for your own. You're too big and fine--to have any more hurting things knock you. May I kiss--you good-night?"