Mrs. Phillips was sitting up in an easy chair near the heavily-curtained windows when Joan arrived. It was a pleasant little house in the old part of the town, and looked out upon the harbour.
She was startlingly thin by comparison with what she had been; but her face was still painted. Phillips would run down by the afternoon train whenever he could get away. She never knew when he was coming, so she explained; and she could not bear the idea of his finding her "old and ugly." She had fought against his wish that she should go into a nursing home; and Joan, who in the course of her work upon the Nursing Times had acquired some knowledge of them as a whole, was inclined to agree with her. She was quite comfortable where she was. The landlady, according to her account, was a dear. She had sent the nurse out for a walk on getting Joan's wire, so that they could have a cosy chat. She didn't really want much attendance. It was her heart. It got feeble now and then, and she had to keep very still; that was all. Joan told how her father had suffered for years from much the same complaint.
So long as you were careful there was no danger. She must take things easily and not excite herself.
Mrs. Phillips acquiesced. "It's turning me into a lazy-bones," she said with a smile. "I can sit here by the hour, just watching the bustle. I was always one for a bit of life."The landlady entered with Joan's tea. Joan took an instinctive dislike to her. She was a large, flashy woman, wearing a quantity of cheap jewellery. Her familiarity had about it something almost threatening. Joan waited till she heard the woman's heavy tread descending the stairs, before she expressed her opinion.
"I think she only means to be cheerful," explained Mrs. Phillips.
"She's quite a good sort, when you know her." The subject seemed in some way to trouble her, and Joan dropped it.
They watched the loading of a steamer while Joan drank her tea.
"He will come this afternoon, I fancy," said Mrs. Phillips. "Iseem to feel it. He will be able to see you home."Joan started. She had been thinking about Phillips, wondering what she should say to him when they met.
"What does he think," she asked, "about your illness?""Oh, it worries him, of course, poor dear," Mrs. Phillips answered.
"You see, I've always been such a go-ahead, as a rule. But I think he's getting more hopeful. As I tell him, I'll be all right by the autumn. It was that spell of hot weather that knocked me over."Joan was still looking out of the window. She didn't quite know what to say. The woman's altered appearance had shocked her.
Suddenly she felt a touch upon her hand.
"You'll look after him if anything does happen, won't you?" The woman's eyes were pleading with her. They seemed to have grown larger. "You know what I mean, dear, don't you?" she continued.
"It will be such a comfort to me to know that it's all right."In answer the tears sprang to Joan's eyes. She knelt down and put her arms about the woman.
"Don't be so silly," she cried. "There's nothing going to happen.
You're going to get fat and well again; and live to see him Prime Minister.""I am getting thin, ain't I?" she said. "I always wanted to be thin." They both laughed.
"But I shan't see him that, even if I do live," she went on.
"He'll never be that, without you. And I'd be so proud to think that he would. I shouldn't mind going then," she added.
Joan did not answer. There seemed no words that would come.
"You will promise, won't you?" she persisted, in a whisper. "It's only 'in case'--just that I needn't worry myself."Joan looked up. There was something in the eyes looking down upon her that seemed to be compelling her.
"If you'll promise to try and get better," she answered.
Mrs. Phillips stooped and kissed her. "Of course, dear," she said.
"Perhaps I shall, now that my mind is easier."Phillips came, as Mrs. Phillips had predicted. He was surprised at seeing Joan. He had not thought she could get back so soon. He brought an evening paper with him. It contained a paragraph to the effect that Mrs. Phillips, wife of the Rt. Hon. Robert Phillips, M.P., was progressing favourably and hoped soon to be sufficiently recovered to return to her London residence. It was the first time she had had a paragraph all to herself, headed with her name. She flushed with pleasure; and Joan noticed that, after reading it again, she folded the paper up small and slipped it into her pocket. The nurse came in from her walk a little later and took Joan downstairs with her.
"She ought not to talk to more than one person at a time," the nurse explained, with a shake of the head. She was a quiet, business-like woman. She would not express a definite opinion.
"It's her mental state that is the trouble," was all that she would say. "She ought to be getting better. But she doesn't.""You're not a Christian Scientist, by any chance?" she asked Joan suddenly.
"No," answered Joan. "Surely you're not one?""I don't know," answered the woman. "I believe that would do her more good than anything else. If she would listen to it. She seems to have lost all will-power."The nurse left her; and the landlady came in to lay the table. She understood that Joan would be dining with Mr. Phillips. There was no train till the eight-forty. She kept looking at Joan as she moved about the room. Joan was afraid she would begin to talk, but she must have felt Joan's antagonism for she remained silent. Once their eyes met, and the woman leered at her.
Phillips came down looking more cheerful. He had detected improvement in Mrs. Phillips. She was more hopeful in herself.
They talked in low tones during the meal, as people do whose thoughts are elsewhere. It happened quite suddenly, Phillips explained. They had come down a few days after the rising of Parliament. There had been a spell of hot weather; but nothing remarkable. The first attack had occurred about three weeks ago.