1
RICHARD stayed on from day to day. He had come to Lynton meaning to
remain a week, but now almost a fortnight had passed, and still he
stayed.
He planned endless walks and motor drives, excursions to all parts of
the country. There were many of these in which Mrs. Ogden could not
join, and a situation arose not unlike that which had arisen years ago,
owing to Elizabeth. But now the antagonists fought in grim silence,
playing with carefully concealed cards, outwardly polite and affable.
While treating Mrs. Ogden quite respectfully, Richard never allowed Joan
to evade him, dragging her out by sheer force of will, and keeping her
out until such time as he thought she had had enough open air and
exercise. He managed with no little skill to combine the authority of
the doctor with the solicitude of an old friend, and Joan found herself
submitting in spite of her mother's aggrieved attitude.
She began to feel better in health but sick in mind; Richard awoke so
much in her that she had hoped was over and done with. He joked over the
old days at Seabourne, in the hopeful, exuberant manner of a man who
looks forward to the future. And all the while her heart ached
intolerably for those days, the days that had held Elizabeth and her own
youth. He seemed to be trying to make her talk too. "Do you remember all
the medical books I used to send you, Joan?" or, "That was when you and
Elizabeth were going to live together, wasn't it?" He discussed
Elizabeth as a matter of course, and because of this Joan found it
difficult to speak of her at all. She began to be obsessed with a
craving to see her again, to talk to her and hear her voice; the thought
of the miles that would always lie between them grew intolerable. This
woman who had known her since she was a little child, who had fashioned
her, loved her and then cast her out, lived again in her thoughts with
all the old vitality. "I shall die without seeing her," was a phrase
that ran constantly in her brain; "I shall die without ever seeing
Elizabeth again."
Richard observed the sunburn on her cheeks and felt happier. He believed
that his method was the right one, and dug assiduously among Joan's
memories. He was convinced that she had been very near a nervous
breakdown when he had found her, and congratulated himself on what he
thought was a change for the better. Her reticence when Elizabeth was
mentioned only served to make him speak of her the more. "No good
letting the thing remain submerged," he thought; "she must be made to
talk about it."
In spite of the mental unrest that possessed her, or perhaps because of
it, Joan looked forward to the long days spent on the moors, the long
drives in the car through the narrow, twisting lanes. Richard was an
excellent companion, always amusing and sympathetic, and there was a
painful fascination in talking over the old days. His eyes were kind
when he looked at her, and his hand felt strong and protective as he
helped her in and out of the car. She thought, as she had done a long
time ago, what an adorable brother he would have made.
Sometimes he would tell her about his work, going into technical details
as though she too were a doctor. When he spoke of a case which
particularly interested him, he gesticulated, like the Richard of twenty
years ago.
"How little you've changed," she said one day.