Joan fetched a jug.
"How much will you have to-day, miss?"
"I don't know," said Joan vaguely.
With a look of surprise the man filled the jug. "Fine weather, miss,
after the rain."
"Yes--oh, yes, very fine."
She would write to her, go to her, anything but this; she would humble
herself, implore forgiveness. If only she knew where she was; she would
ask Ralph. No, what was the good? Elizabeth would not have her now, she
did not want a weak-kneed creature who didn't know her own mind; she
liked dependable, strong people like herself.
"Joan!" came a voice.
"Yes, Mother?"
"Bring me my nerve tonic, dear."
"Yes, Mother."
"Oh, and bring me my shawl, I feel cold; you'll find it in my top
right-hand drawer."
She obeyed, fetching the shawl, measuring out the tonic in a medicine
glass.
"I don't feel it's doing me much good," Mrs. Ogden complained. "I slept
very badly again last night."
"You must give it time," said Joan comfortingly. "This is only your
third dose."
Where was Elizabeth? Had she found a new friend to share the flat?
"You might go and buy me that trimming, some time to-day, darling; it
may be all sold out if we wait."
"All right, I'll go when I've tidied the house, Mother; they had plenty
of it yesterday."
But Mrs. Ogden persisted: "I have a feeling that it will all be sold out
and I'm short by just half a yard. Can't you finish the house when you
come back?"
"I'd rather get on and finish it now, Mother; I'm quite sure it'll be
all right."
Mrs. Ogden reverted to the subject of the trimming again during lunch,
and several times before tea. "We shall never get it," she complained
querulously. "I feel sure it'll all be sold out!"
She allowed herself to be a little monotonous these days, clinging to an
idea with wearying persistence. In her husband's lifetime she would have
been more careful not to irritate, but the restraint of his temper being
removed, she no longer felt the necessity for keeping herself in hand.
Joan bought the trimming just before the shop closed, and this done,
they settled down to their high tea. Joan cleared the table wearily,
answered two advertisements of general servants, and finally took her
book to the lamp. It was a new book that Richard had just sent her.
Richard did not yet suspect what she had done; he probably thought she
was busily making plans for her departure; how furious he would be when
he knew. But Richard didn't count; he could think what he liked, for all
she cared.
She could not read, the book seemed beyond her comprehension, or was it
all nonsense?