CHAPTER XIII

Mrs. Phillips was sitting up in an easy chair near the heavily-curtained windows when Joan arrived.  It was a pleasant little house in the old part of the town, and looked out upon the harbour.  She was startlingly thin by comparison with what she had been; but her face was still painted.  Phillips would run down by the afternoon train whenever he could get away.  She never knew when he was coming, so she explained; and she could not bear the idea of his finding her “old and ugly.”  She had fought against his wish that she should go into a nursing home; and Joan, who in the course of her work upon the Nursing Times had acquired some knowledge of them as a whole, was inclined to agree with her.  She was quite comfortable where she was.  The landlady, according to her account, was a dear.  She had sent the nurse out for a walk on getting Joan’s wire, so that they could have a cosy chat.  She didn’t really want much attendance.  It was her heart.  It got feeble now and then, and she had to keep very still; that was all.  Joan told how her father had suffered for years from much the same complaint.  So long as you were careful there was no danger.  She must take things easily and not excite herself.

Mrs. Phillips acquiesced.  “It’s turning me into a lazy-bones,” she said with a smile.  “I can sit here by the hour, just watching the bustle.  I was always one for a bit of life.”

The landlady entered with Joan’s tea.  Joan took an instinctive dislike to her.  She was a large, flashy woman, wearing a quantity of cheap jewellery.  Her familiarity had about it something almost threatening.  Joan waited till she heard the woman’s heavy tread descending the stairs, before she expressed her opinion.

“I think she only means to be cheerful,” explained Mrs. Phillips.  “She’s quite a good sort, when you know her.”  The subject seemed in some way to trouble her, and Joan dropped it.

They watched the loading of a steamer while Joan drank her tea.

“He will come this afternoon, I fancy,” said Mrs. Phillips.  “I seem to feel it.  He will be able to see you home.”

Joan started.  She had been thinking about Phillips, wondering what she should say to him when they met.

“What does he think,” she asked, “about your illness?”

“Oh, it worries him, of course, poor dear,” Mrs. Phillips answered.  “You see, I’ve always been such a go-ahead, as a rule.  But I think he’s getting more hopeful.  As I tell him, I’ll be all right by the autumn.  It was that spell of hot weather that knocked me over.”

Joan was still looking out of the window.  She didn’t quite know what to say.  The woman’s altered appearance had shocked her.  Suddenly she felt a touch upon her hand.

“You’ll look after him if anything does happen, won’t you?” The woman’s eyes were pleading with her.  They seemed to have grown larger.  “You know what I mean, dear, don’t you?” she continued.  “It will be such a comfort to me to know that it’s all right.”