1
THAT August Joan's worst fears were justified, for Milly began to spit
blood. Trying to play her violin one morning she was overtaken by a fit
of coughing; she pressed her handkerchief to her mouth.
"Oh! Look, look, Joan, what is it? Oh, I'm frightened!"
They sent for Doctor Thomas, who ordered Milly to bed and examined her.
His face was grey when he looked up at Joan, and they left the room
together and went downstairs to Mrs. Ogden.
"It's terribly sudden and quite unexpected," Doctor Thomas said.
"But I simply can't believe it," wailed Mrs. Ogden. "She comes of such
healthy stock, I simply can't believe it!"
"I'm afraid there is very little doubt, Mrs. Ogden; I myself have no
doubt. Still, we had better have a consultation."
Mrs. Ogden protested: "But blood may come from all sorts of places; her
stomach, her throat. She may even have bitten her tongue, poor child,
when she was coughing."
The doctor shook his head. "No," he said; "I'm afraid not; but I should
like to have a consultation at once, if you don't mind."
"I will not have a specialist in my house again," Mrs. Ogden repeated
for about the fiftieth time in the last few months. "It was your
specialist who killed my poor James!"
The doctor looked helplessly at Joan, and she saw fear in his old eyes.
She felt certain that he was conscious of having made a terrible
mistake, and was asking her dumbly to forgive, and to help him. His
mouth worked a little as he took off his dimmed glasses to polish them.
"No one knows how this grieves me," he said unsteadily. "Why, I've known
her since she was a baby."
From the depth of her heart Joan pitied him. "The lungs may have gone
very suddenly," she said.
He looked at her gratefully. "And what about a consultation?" he asked
with more confidence.
Joan turned to her mother. "There must be one," she told her.
"But not a specialist. Oh, please, not a specialist," implored Mrs.
Ogden. "You don't know what a horror I have of them!"
"There's a colleague of mine down here, Doctor Jennings. I'd like to
call him in, Mrs. Ogden, if you won't get a London man; but I'm afraid
he can't say any more than I have."
"Is he a specialist?" inquired Mrs. Ogden suspiciously.
"No, oh no, just a general practitioner, but a very able young man."
Joan nodded. "Bring him this afternoon," she said.
The doctors arrived together about three o'clock. Joan, sitting in the
dining-room, heard their peremptory ring and ran to open the door. She
felt as though she were in a kind of dream; only half conscious of what
was going on around her. In the dream she found herself shaking hands
with Doctor Jennings, and then following him and Doctor Thomas upstairs.
Doctor Jennings was young and clean and smelt a little of some
disinfectant; it was not an unpleasant smell, rather the reverse, she
thought. Milly looked up with wide, frightened eyes, from her pillow as
they entered; Joan took her hand and kissed it. Doctor Jennings, who
seemed very kind, smiled reassuringly at the patient while making his
exhaustive examination, but once outside the bedroom his smile died
away.
"I should like a few minutes alone with Doctor Thomas," he said.
Joan took them into the dining-room and left them. She began pacing up
and down outside in the hall, listening vaguely to the murmur of their
lowered voices. Presently Doctor Thomas looked out.
"Will you and your mother please come in now."
She went slowly into the drawing-room and fetched her mother; Mrs. Ogden
looked up with a frightened face and clung to her arm.
"What do they say?" she demanded in a loud whisper.
The two doctors were standing by the window. "Please sit down, Mrs.
Ogden," said Doctor Jennings, pushing forward a chair.
It was all over very soon and the doctors had left. They were completely
agreed, it seemed; Milly's lungs were already far gone and there was
practically no hope. Doctor Jennings would have liked to send her to
Davos Platz, but she was not strong enough to take the journey, and in
any case he seemed doubtful as to whether it was not too late.
2
So Milly was dying. Joan's eyes were dry while her mother sobbed quietly
in her chair. Milly was dying, going away, going away from Seabourne for
ever and ever. Milly was dying, Milly might very soon be dead. Her brain
cleared; she began to remember little incidents in their childhood,
little quarrels, little escapades. Milly had broken a breakfast-cup one
day and had not owned up; Milly had cried over her sums and had
sometimes been cheeky to Elizabeth. Milly was dying. Where _was_
Elizabeth, why wasn't she here? She must find her at once and tell her
that Milly was going to die, that Milly was as good as dead already.
Elizabeth would be sorry; she had never really liked Milly, still, she
would begin to like her now out of pity--people did that when someone
was dying.
She got up. "I'm going to the Rodneys'," she said.
"Oh! don't leave me, don't leave me now, Joan," wailed Mrs. Ogden.
"I must for a little while; try to stop crying, dearest, and go up to
Milly. But bathe your eyes first, though; she oughtn't to see them
looking red."
Mrs. Ogden walked feebly to the door; she looked old and pinched, she
looked more than her age.
"Don't be long," she implored.
3
In the street, Joan saw one or two people she knew, and crossed over, in
order to avoid them. It was hot and the sea glared fearfully; she could
feel the sun beating down on her head, and putting up her hand found
that she was hatless. She quickened her steps.
Elizabeth was upstairs sorting clothes, they lay in little heaps on the
bed and chairs; she looked up as Joan came in.
"I'm thinking of having a jumble sale," she said, and then stopped.
Joan sat down on a pile of nightgowns. "It's Milly--they say she's
dying."