But
that she should exercise thought and ingenuity--that she should have
reasoned the thing out and deliberately laid her plans, calculating at
every point on their success; it was inconceivable.
Besides, what could have put the idea into her head? It was laughable,
the presumption that she was a finished actress, capable of deceiving
everyone about her. If she had had an inkling of the truth, Joan, with
every nerve on the alert, almost hoping for it, would have detected it.
She had talked with her alone the day before she had left England, and
the woman had been full of hopes and projects for the future.
That picture of Mrs. Phillips, propped up against the pillows, with her
make-up box upon her knees was still before her when she went to bed. All
night long it haunted her: whether thinking or dreaming of it, she could
not tell.
Suddenly, she sat up with a stifled cry. It seemed as if a flash of
light had been turned upon her, almost blinding her.
Hilda! Why had she never thought of it? The whole thing was so obvious.
"You ought not to think about yourself.
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