Joan looked amazed and then quivered.
"Yes, Pat, of course!"
There was a long pause, the consciousness was seeking something to which it might cling. Something forever eluding it.
A day or two later Cameron brought the dog into the sick room. Joan turned as she heard steps.
"Cuff!" she cried and then, as the dog leaped on to her, she sobbed and murmured over and over: "Pat's little Cuff; Pat's little Cuff."
Her way on ahead was safer after that—safer but more secretive.
As Joan got control of her thoughts she became more silent and watchful. She questioned the nurse and found out where she was and how long she had been there; she smiled with her old touch of humour when she was called Miss Lamb but gave thanks that she had a name not her own!
She regarded Cameron with deep gratitude, but drove him to a corner by insisting that he tell her how much she owed him.
Cameron, having her purse under lock and key, at home, told her she owed the hospital fifty dollars.
At that Joan laughed, and the sound gave Cameron more hope than he had known for some time, but it seemed to mark, also, Joan's complete self-control.