“I did not mean to be unkind,” Joan repeated then wistfully. “I quite forgot, Leo.”
Leonard made no attempt to explain the nature of his own feelings. He said only—“Any questions you like.”
“Is there any hope that father will ever—ever be quite the same again—quite the same that he has been?”
“I am afraid—very little hope.”
“Will he recover, Leo?”
A pause, and then—
“We cannot be sure yet. He does not get on as he should. Still on the whole—”
“And if he does—if—if—Leo, I don’t know how to get it out!” cried Joan, with extreme bitterness. “Will—will there—will there be a change in him always? Will this go on? Don’t you understand? Will he—will he—his dear, dear mind—Oh, can’t you answer?”
“Dear Joan, that is the fear,” Leo answered very low.
Joan had no more to say. She looked like one crushed.