“What I counted!” Joan turned towards Leo, with a flash of her eyes. “She called me by my name—‘Joan’ outright, and said ‘dear’ and ‘darling.’ Was that only what I counted freedom? The impertinence of the woman!”
Joan’s drawn brows were for a moment furious, and Leo seemed startled.
“Not really?” he said.
“Yes—really and truly. You don’t think I am making up?”
“No, no; but it is extraordinary,” remarked Leo. “She has always been so singularly quiet and respectful in manner! I cannot understand the sudden change, except—Yes, she spoke of your likeness to some one.”
“Everybody is like everybody. I hate likenesses, and I am always being bothered about them,” said Joan pettishly. “I wish I had not told you so much. Please don’t tell mother, or I shall never hear the end of it. I don’t want to say another word about Marian’s absurdities. You promised to tell me exactly what the doctors think of father, and I am sure I have waited long enough.”
Leo said “Yes” thoughtfully.
“Go on. ‘Yes’?” said Joan. “Make haste, please.”
“It is not easy to know exactly what to say,” Leo answered. “Their opinion at the last consultation was not very favorable.”
She forced herself to speak composedly.