JOAN, not much more fit than Dulcibel to leave her bed, was a good deal more resolute in carrying out her own will. She would not permit any appeal to Leonard.
“But if you would only just wait till Mr. Forest has been!” pleaded Nessie.
“That is exactly what I don’t want to do,” Joan answered. “He might keep me prisoner, and I want to be free. It is no use talking, Nessie. I must go to father.”
She dressed herself with few words, accepting help from Nessie. A black ribbon tied over the plastered cut on her forehead gave her a somewhat nun-like appearance, not lessened by the white cheeks and heavy, sad eyes below. All sparkle had vanished from Joan’s face.
“I didn’t know I could look so uninteresting,” she said, turning away from the glass. “Well it doesn’t matter.”
“Joan, do you feel very ill?” asked Nessie, wistfully.
“I don’t know. If I find there isn’t much wrong with father, I shall be all right. I am only stupid. I can’t think why you did not find out more last night.”
Nessie attempted no direct answer.
“Leo said I should have breakfast with him at nine; and it is just nine now,” she said.
“Where? In the coffee-room?”