She did not realise that hitherto she had only seen parts of herself in certain mirrors from certain angles, and the complete effect was something she had simply never witnessed. Nor that she had not heard her own voice outside her own head, so to speak—never from a distance of some feet.
Nevertheless, throughout the meal she felt vaguely uneasy, though she tried to hide it, and kept up a fire of witty remarks. And her other self, too, smiled at her across the table and talked easily.
They compared themselves in detail, and found they were completely identical in every way, even to the tiny mole on their left forearm. Their tastes, too, agreed. They took the same amount of sugar in their tea, and liked and disliked the same foodstuffs.
“I’ve got my eye on that pink iced cake,” laughed Doll. “Have you?”
Joan admitted it. So they shared it.
“You’ll never have any trouble over buying each other birthday or Christmas presents,” commented Will. “How nice to know exactly what the other wants!”
Bill had a permanent grin on his face, and beamed all over the table all the time. For once he did not have a great deal to say. He seemed too happy for words, and kept losing the thread of the conversation to gaze upon Doll fondly.
“We’re going to be married tomorrow!” he announced unexpectedly, and they protested their surprise at the lack of warning. But they promised to be there. There followed an evening of various sorts of games, and the similar thought-processes of Joan and Doll led to much amusement, especially in the guessing games. And twice they played checkers and twice they drew. It was a merry evening, and Bill was merriest of all. Yet when they came to say goodnight, Joan felt the return of the old uneasiness. As they left in the car, Joan caught a glimpse of Doll’s face as she stood beside Bill at the gate. And she divined that under that air of gaiety, Doll suffered the same uneasiness as she. Doll and Bill were married in a distant registry office next day, using a fictitious name and birthplace for Doll to avoid any publicity-after all, no one would question her identity.
Winter came and went.
Doll and Bill seemed to have settled down quite happily, and the quartet remained as close friends as ever. Both Doll and Joan were smitten with the urge to take up flying as a hobby, and joined the local flying club. They each bought a single-seater, and went for long flights, cruising side by side.
Almost in self-protection from this neglect (they had no interest in flying) Bill and Will began to work again together, delving further into the mysteries of the atom. This time they were searching for the yet-to-be-discovered secret of tapping the potential energy which the atom held.
And almost at once they stumbled onto a new lead.
Formerly they had been able to divert atomic energy without being able to transform it into useful power. It was as if they had constructed a number of artificial dams at various points in a turbulent river, which altered the course of the river without tapping any of its force—though that is a poor and misleading analogy. But now they had conceived, and were building, an amazingly complex machine which, in the same unsatisfactory analogy, could be likened to a turbine-generator, tapping some of the power of that turbulent river. The ‘river’ however, was very turbulent indeed, and needed skill and courage to harness. And there was a danger of the harness suddenly slipping. Presently, the others became aware that Doll’s health was gradually failing. She tried hard to keep up her usual air of brightness and cheerfulness, but she could not sleep, and became restless and nervous.
And Joan, who was her almost constant companion, suddenly realised what was worrying that mind which was so similar to hers. The realisation was a genuine shock, which left her trembling, but she faced it.
“I think it would be a good thing for Doll and Bill to come and live here for a while, until Doll’s better,” she said rather diffidently to Will one day.
“Yes, okay, if you think you can persuade them,” replied Will. He looked a little puzzled.
“We have far too many empty rooms here,” she said defensively. “Anyway, I can help Doll if I’m with her more.”
Doll seemed quite eager to come, though a little dubious, but Bill thought it a great idea. They moved within the week.
At first, things did improve. Doll began to recover, and became more like her natural self. She was much less highly strung, and joined in the evening games with the other three with gusto. She studied Will’s favourite game, backgammon, and began to enjoy beating him thoroughly and regularly. And then Joan began to fail.
She became nerveless, melancholy, and even morose. It seemed as though through helping Doll back to health, she had been infected with the same complaint. Will was worried, and insisted on her being examined by a doctor. The doctor told Will in private: “There’s nothing physically wrong. She’s nursing some secret worry, and she’ll get worse until this worry is eased. Persuade her to tell you what it is—she refuses to tell me.”
She also refused to tell Will, despite his pleadings. And now Doll, who knew what the secret was, began to worry about Joan, and presently she relapsed into her previous nervous condition. So it continued for a week, a miserable week for the two harassed and perplexed husbands, who did not know which way to turn. The following week,
