now
doing.

Patricia was not in when Joan reached her rooms--they were small, dim
rooms and rather cluttered.

Sitting alone, waiting, Joan thought of Patricia more intimately than
she often did. She recalled what Sylvia had told of her; remembered the
warnings, and her eyes dimmed.

"Poor old Pat!" she mused, "she's like a pretty bird--just lighting on
things, or"--and here Joan thought she had struck on something rather
expressive--"or like a lovely, bright cloud casting a shadow. No matter
what colour the cloud is, the shadow's dark. Dear old Pat! Well--I see
the colour."

This was satisfying and brought up her feeling about Patricia, which had
been depressed.

And just then Patricia tripped in, humming and rippling and stumbling
over a rug as she felt her way in the gloom--Joan had not turned on the
lights. Presently she stopped short and asked sharply:

"Who is here?"

Joan bubbled over and Patricia gave a relieved laugh.

"Lordy!" she gasped, "you gave me a bad minute. I thought----"

"What, Pat?" Joan touched the switch.

"I--I thought--it might be someone else. I haven't had a thing to eat
since breakfast," Patricia announced, dropping on a couch and pulling
the cushions into all the crevices surrounding her thin, weary little
body.

"I'll get the nicest little meal for you in a jiffy!" Joan sprang to her
feet. "Is there anything _to_ fix?" she added, quickly.

"There's always something"--Patricia closed her eyes--"eggs and milk
and--and canned horrors." Then, with a radiant smile:

"I've been on the trail of your man, Joan, and it was some trail."

"Pat, darling," Joan hung over the couch, "you take a couple of winks.
I'm going out to get--a steak."

"A what?" Patricia regarded Joan gravely. "A brand-new steak for me?
Joan, you must be mad!"

"Pat, lie down and dream a minute or two. A steak, fried potatoes, a
vegetable, and dessert with coffee, cheese, crackers--and--and----" Joan
was putting on her hat while she spoke and Patricia was sniffing
adorably.

A half hour later Joan crept noiselessly back, her arms full of bundles.
Patricia lay fast asleep on the couch.

Sleep does revealing things, and in spite of her hurry, Joan stopped and
looked at the girl lying in the full glare of the electric light.

She was like a weary child. All the hard lines on the thin face were
obliterated; the soft hair fell in cunning curls about the neck and
ears; the long lashes rested delicately on the