I WAS surprised to find, when I examined myself in the glass next morning, that I did not look like a person that has seen a ghost. I had rather more color than usual and my eyes were bright; also the fact that I had controlled and overcome my nerves seemed to have acted like a tonic to my whole system. In some mysterious way I had tapped a whole reservoir of nervous strength and resilience. The same thing often happens physically: one is tired to the very point of exhaustion, one goes on, there is a renewal of strength, the effort that seems about to crack the muscles suddenly lightens, becomes almost easy again. I suppose the nervous system is subject to the same rules. At any rate, in my case, the explanation works.
Without any exaggerated horror I dressed again in my Quaker costume and I went down to breakfast. There must have been something in my face, however, for Mrs. Brane, after we had had our coffee, began to look at me rather searchingly, and at last she said, “You are getting very thin, Janice, do you know that?”
“I had n't noticed it. Perhaps.”
“Not perhaps at all. Certainly. Your gown is beginning to hang on you and your face is just a wedge between all that hair. You look a little feverish too. Suppose you try to take a little more exercise and fresh air. After all, keeping house at 'The Pines' does not demand so much strenuous desk work, does it? And now that Paul Dabney is away, you can neglect that endless library work.”
“Has he gone for good?” I asked, as lightly as possible, though my heart fell.
“No, my dear. You will still be able to torment him with your proud 'Maisie' looks and ways. He is coming back this evening on the afternoon train. He'll be late for tea, but we'll wait for him, shall we? He did n't want to be met, said he would walk up. I think he dreads that long, poky ride with old George nursing old Gregory through the sand. When you're a young man who flies about the country in a motor, 'The Pines' vehicle must be an instrument of torture. Janice, suppose you put on your cloak and hat and come out with me for a nice long walk. It would do us both good, I have n't had any heart for exercise. There seems to be nothing to live for now—but Dr. Haverstock—”
“You think Dr. Haverstock something to live for?” I asked, rather puzzled.
She laughed a little and blushed a great deal. “Mercy, no! I meant to say, 'But Dr. Haverstock has told me that I must take more exercise'—I don't know why I stopped that way—absent-mindedness. I was looking through the window at one of those men.”
“Do you think they are very useful members of society, Mrs. Brane? They seem to do very little work.”
She gave me an odd, half-amused, half-embarrassed look.