The little room looked very cosy when Mary had made up the fire and lighted the lamp.  She seated Joan in the worn horsehair easy-chair; out of which one had to be careful one did not slip on to the floor; and spread her handsome shawl over the back of the dilapidated sofa.

“You won’t mind my running away for a minute,” she said.  “I shall only be in the next room.”

Through the thin partition, Joan heard a constant shrill, complaining voice.  At times, it rose into an angry growl.  Mary looked in at the door.

“I’m just running round to the doctor’s,” she whispered.  “His medicine hasn’t come.  I shan’t be long.”

Joan offered to go in and sit with the invalid.  But Mary feared the exertion of talking might be too much for him.  “He gets so excited,” she explained.  She slipped out noiselessly.

It seemed, in spite of its open door, a very silent little house behind its strip of garden.  Joan had the feeling that it was listening.

Suddenly she heard a light step in the passage, and the room door opened.  A girl entered.  She was wearing a large black hat and a black boa round her neck.  Between them her face shone unnaturally white.  She carried a small cloth bag.  She started, on seeing Joan, and seemed about to retreat.

“Oh, please don’t go,” cried Joan.  “Mrs. Stopperton has just gone round to the doctor’s.  She won’t be long.  I’m a friend of hers.”

The girl took stock of her and, apparently reassured, closed the door behind her.

“What’s he like to-night?” she asked, with a jerk of her head in the direction of the next room.  She placed her bag carefully upon the sofa, and examined the new shawl as she did so.

“Well, I gather he’s a little fretful,” answered Joan with a smile.

“That’s a bad sign,” said the girl.  “Means he’s feeling better.”  She seated herself on the sofa and fingered the shawl.  “Did you give it her?” she asked.

“Yes,” admitted Joan.  “I rather fancied her in it.”

“She’ll only pawn it,” said the girl, “to buy him grapes and port wine.”

“I felt a bit afraid of her,” laughed Joan, “so I made her promise not to part with it.  Is he really very ill, her husband?”

“Oh, yes, there’s no make-believe this time,” answered the girl.  “A bad thing for her if he wasn’t.”

“Oh, it’s only what’s known all over the neighbourhood,” continued the girl.  “She’s had a pretty rough time with him.  Twice I’ve found her getting ready to go to sleep for the night by sitting on the bare floor with her back against the wall.  Had sold every stick in the place and gone off.  But she’d always some excuse for him.  It was sure to be half her fault and the other half he couldn’t help.  Now she’s got her ‘reward’ according to her own account.  Heard he was dying in a doss-house, and must fetch him home and nurse him back to life.  Seems he’s getting fonder of her every day.  Now that he can’t do anything else.”