Elizabeth looked relieved. "Don't call her," she said. "Let me see your
examination report." Joan fetched it and put it on the table in front of
her. For a moment or two Elizabeth studied it in silence, then she
looked up.
"It's perfectly excellent," she remarked.
In her enthusiasm, she picked up the paper to study it more closely, and
at that moment the sun came out and fell on her hands.
Joan gasped, a little cry of horror escaped her in spite of herself.
Elizabeth looked up, she blanched and hid her hands in her lap, but Joan
had seen them; they were hideously seamed and puckered with large,
discoloured scars.
"Oh, Elizabeth--your hands! Your beautiful hands! You were so proud of
them----"
Joan laid her head down on the table and wept.
2
After supper that night Joan took the plunge. She had not intended doing
it so quickly, but waiting seemed useless, and, besides, she was filled
with a wild energy that rendered any action a relief. Colonel Ogden was
dozing over the evening paper; from time to time he jumped awake with a
stifled snort; as always the dining-room smelt of his pipe smoke and
stale food. At Joan's quick movement he opened his eyes very wide; he
looked like an old baby.
She began abruptly, "Mother, I want to tell you that I'm going to study
to be a doctor."
It was characteristic of her to get it all out at once without any
prelude. Mrs. Ogden laid down her knitting, and contrary to all
expectations did not faint; she did not even press her head, but she
smiled unpleasantly.