He looked at her with sudden pity in his eyes. "She's changed since you
knew her, Joan."
"Never mind that," she interrupted. "Tell me what she looks like."
He considered. "Rather placid, I should say--yes, decidedly placid, but
you feel that's not quite a true impression when you look at her mouth;
her mouth is mystifying."
"How mystifying?"
"Oh, I don't know. Full of possibilities--it always was. She's rather
ample these days; not fat you know, but Junoesque, you can imagine that
she would be when she began to put on flesh. Oh! And her hair's quite
white, the nice silvery kind, and always wonderfully dressed. She's a
fine looking woman but she's cranky in some ways; for instance, she
won't come to England. She's never set foot on British soil since she
left for South Africa, except to skim across it _en route_ for the
Continent. When she comes to Europe, she goes to Paris or Rome or some
other place abroad. She says that she hates England. As a matter of fact
I think she dislikes leaving South Africa at all, she says she's grown
roots in the bigness of things out there. Lawrence tells me that when
she feels bored with the gaieties of Cape Town, she goes right away to
the veld; he thinks it's original and fine of her to need so much space
to stretch in and so much oxygen to expand her lungs. Perhaps it is, I
don't know. In any case she was awfully kind to me when I stayed with
them; I was there for three months, you know, having a rest."
"Did she ever speak about me?" Joan asked, with an eagerness she could
not hide.
"Only once; let me think. It was one night after dinner. I remember we
were sitting alone on the terrace, and she asked me suddenly if I ever
heard from you. I told her that I hadn't done so for years, that it was
partly my fault, because I'd stopped writing. Then she said: 'I don't
really want to discuss Joan Ogden, she belongs to the past, and I belong
to all this, to my life here. I've given up being sentimental, and I
find nothing either interesting or pathetic in failures. And I want you
to promise me that if you should ever meet Joan, you won't talk about
me; don't discuss me with her, she has no right to know.'" He paused. "I
think those were her words, my dear, at all events they were very like
that."
His voice was calm and even, and he turned to look at the pale face
beside him. "I think she's succeeded in forgetting her disappointment
over you," he said. "And if she hasn't quite got over it, she's managed
to console herself pretty well. She's not the sort of woman to cry long
over spilt milk."
He knew that he was being brutal. "But it's necessary," he thought;
"it's vitally necessary. And if it rouses her even to a feeling of
regret, better that than this lethargy of body and mind."
Joan stared out in front of her. All the expression seemed to have been
wiped out of her face and eyes. "Shall we go?" she said presently. "I
think it's getting late."
He assented at once, and they turned towards Lynton; he watched her
covertly as she walked beside him. All his knowledge, all his
experience, were braced to their utmost to meet the necessity that he
felt was hers. But while his mind worked furiously, he talked of other
things. He told her about his work during the war; he had gone to France
to operate, and incidentally to study shell-shock, and the effects
produced thereon by hypnotic treatment. He saw that she was scarcely
listening, but he talked on just the same.
"That shell-shock work would have interested you, Joan, you'd have been
awfully useful out there; they wanted women of your type. The average
trained nurses sometimes hindered rather than helped, they didn't seem
to catch on to the new ideas." He stood still and faced her. "By the
way, what did you do during the war?" he asked suddenly.
She gave a hard little laugh. "What did I do? Well, you see, I couldn't
leave Mother. I wanted to go with a unit to Serbia, but she got ill just
then, I think the mere idea made her ill; so I made swabs at the Town
Hall at Seabourne; I must have made thousands I should think. I had a
Sister Dora arrangement on my head; we all had, it made us look
important. Some of the women wore aprons with large red crosses on their
bibs, it was very effective! And we gossiped, we did it persistently;
that Town Hall grew to be a veritable 'School for Scandal;' we took away
a character with every swab we made. We quarrelled too, I assure you it
was most exciting at times; why, life-long friendships went to pieces
over those swabs of ours. You see we were jealous of each other, we
couldn't bear to think that some of our friends were more expert than we
were, the competition was terrific! Oh, yes, and I was so good at my job
that they couldn't in decency avoid making me the head of our room for a
short time; I wore a wide blue sash over one shoulder. I shall never
forget the sense of power that I felt when I first put on that sash. I
became hectoring and dictatorial at once; it was a moment worth living
for, I can tell you!"
He was silent, the bitterness in her voice hurt him intensely.
"Good-bye," she said as they reached the hotel. "And thank you for
telling me about Elizabeth."