His father and mother—­well-bred, cordial people—­and his maiden sister, of about Joanna’s age, never seemed to see anything remarkable in the way Ellen and Tip always went off together after dinner, while the others settled down to their bridge.  It seemed to Joanna a grossly improper proceeding if they were not engaged.  But all Mr. and Mrs. Ernley would say was—­“Quite right too—­it’s just as well when young people aren’t too fond of cards.”  Joanna herself was growing to be quite fond of cards, though in her heart she did not think that for sheer excitement bridge was half as good as beggar-my-neighbour, which she used to play with Mene Tekel, in the old days before she and Mene both became dignified, the one as mistress, the other as maid.  She enjoyed her bridge—­but often the game would be quite spoilt by the thought of Ellen and Tip in some secluded corner.  He must be making love to her, or they wouldn’t go off alone together like that ...  I go no trumps ... if they wanted just ordinary talk they could stay in here, we wouldn’t trouble them if they sat over there on the sofa ... me to play, is it?...  I wonder if she lets him kiss her ... oh, I beg your pardon, I’m sure....

Joanna had no more returns of rheumatism that winter.  Scared and infuriated by her one experience, she took great care of herself, and that winter was drier than usual, with crisp days of cold sunshine, and a skin of ice on the sewers.  Once or twice there was a fall of snow, and even Joanna saw beauty in those days of a blue sky hanging above the dazzling white spread of the three marshes, Walland, Dunge and Romney, one huge white plain, streaked with the watercourses black under their ice, like bars of iron.  Somehow the sight hurt her; all beautiful things hurt her strangely now—­whether it was the snow-laden marsh, or the first scents of spring in the evenings of February, or even Ellen’s face like a broad, pale flower.

She felt low-spirited and out of sorts that turn of the year.  It was worse than rheumatism....  Then she suddenly conceived the idea that it was the rheumatism “driven inside her.”  Joanna had heard many terrible tales of people who had perished through quite ordinary complaints, like measles, being mysteriously “driven inside.”  It was a symptom of her low condition that she should worry about her health, which till then had never given her a minute’s preoccupation.  She consulted “The Family Doctor,” and realized the number of diseases she might be suffering from besides suppressed rheumatics—­cancer, consumption, kidney disease, diabetes, appendicitis, asthma, arthritis, she seemed to have them all, and in a fit of panic decided to consult a physician in the flesh.

So she drove off to see Dr. Taylor in her smart chocolate-coloured trap, behind her chocolate-coloured mare, with her groom in chocolate-coloured livery on the seat behind her.  She intended to buy a car if she won her case at the High Court—­for to the High Court it had gone, both the Commissioners and their referee having shown themselves blind to the claims of justice.