"I'll tear the rainbow from the sky And tie both ends together." The ringing girlish voice rose high and true and clear. "Bravo!" cried a man's voice and then: "And she'll do it, too!" It was at this point that Martin took Doris from the room. In the quiet of the deserted piazza Doris looked up at Martin through tears. "Joan is feeling her oats." Martin walked to and fro; he had been more moved by the song than he cared to confess. "The darling!" Doris whispered. Then: "Can't you see what Miss Phillips meant, Davey? The child is talented--she shall never be held back. Wealth can be as cruel and crippling as poverty. Be prepared, David, I mean to let Joan--free." Martin came close and sat down. "Go easy, Doris," he cautioned, then asked: "And how about Nancy?" "David, I'm going to tell Nancy, after we come home from Europe--not all, of course, but enough to make her understand--about me! I cannot quite explain, but I am sure I am right in my decision. Nancy, indeed all of us, will, sooner or later, have to let Joan go! I saw that clearly as she sang. I must fill Nancy's life and she must make up to me what I am about to lose. David, is this what mothers feel?" "Some of them, Doris. The best of them. I'm glad to see you game." "Oh! yes. I'm glad, too--for Joan's sake. I will be giving Nancy her best and surest happiness--with me, but not Joan. And so, David, Joan must not have the slightest inkling--she must go, when her time comes, unhampered. You, Nancy, and I must contribute that to her future." Martin saw that Doris was still trembling, she was excited, too, in her controlled way. He was anxious. "You're seeing things in broad daylight, Doris. Why, my dear, both the girls will be snapped up before any of us catch our breaths. That is what Miss Phillips' is for. Training for fine American wives and mothers. A good job, too." Doris smiled and shook her head. Then she said suddenly: "David, the old spectre stalks! It seems as if I ought to know, as if the knowledge were right here, to-day." "Come, come, now Doris! If you do not quiet down I'm going to pack you off to the hotel. Why, see here, the kids have not revealed themselves. You're lashing yourself about nothing. Can you not reason it out this way----" Martin sat close to the couch upon which Doris half reclined; he was almost praying that Joan would have a dozen encores--by request, apparently, she was again chasing the rainbow on her Dog-star. "The inheritance, I mean. For I see it is that that is clutching you. My work brings me close to primitive things--I believe in inheritance down to the roots--but by heaven, we inherit from the ages, not from our next of kin alone. Each son and daughter of us comes into port with load enough to crush us, and if we kept it all we'd go under. We shuffle off a lot. It is the ability to shuffle, the opportunity to shuffle that counts. Why, look here, Doris----"