And Doris was looking, holding with all her strength to the man's words. "That little mountain woman had more daring and courage, according to what you told me, than poor Merry ever had. She cut a wider circle, got more out of life, I bet, went out of it more satisfied. Her child, with your help, could develop into something mighty worth while for she wouldn't have so much to overcome at the start. On the other hand, Meredith's child would have to blaze her own trail, as far as any guidance from her mother is concerned. Can't you see, that's where inheritance plays the devil with hasty conclusions?" Doris drew a long breath and sat up. She was seeking to hold to what she could not see. "David," she whispered, "is it the knowing, or the not knowing? Could I have helped more wisely had I not shirked the truth? In there, a moment ago, it was as if Meredith were demanding. Oh! youth is awful in its possibilities of success or failure." Martin was seriously alarmed. He had never seen Doris so shaken, but he talked on, seeking by a show of calmness to disarm her fears. "It's the ability to shuffle off inheritance that counts, Doris. You have given these girls the strength and opportunity--to shuffle. Now, my dear, be sensible. It is up to the girls and they're all right. Hold firm to your own belief, Doris. It's about to be proved." "Hear them." Doris dropped back. "They are still applauding Joan." The next few months Doris always looked back upon as a connecting stretch of road between what she had but faintly feared and what became assured. From the day Joan graduated she became the dominant influence in what followed, and Nancy, being non-resistant, was engulfed in the general rush of affairs; was absorbed and smilingly played her part as once she had played Joan's accompaniment. Joan was not more selfish than the young generally are; she had hours of noble self-renunciation and generosity. Her ego was well developed, but it never drove her cruelly. Doris justified what happened, when she took time to consider, by her determination to be fair to both girls and then, unconsciously focussing on Joan because Joan was always in evidence. The girl's vitality and joyousness were unfailing. Everything was of interest, and she seemed to gather the flowers of life not so much for her own enjoyment as for the glory of shedding them on others. That is what disarmed people--this lavishness of the girl. She gave spice to life, and that has its value. If Nancy ever knew the natural desire to shine in her own light, not Joan's, she smilingly hid it--not even Doris suspected it.