They collected the luggage, Elizabeth unusually silent. It was not until they drove off in the fly that she began to talk.
"Joan, your father is very ill; Mrs. Ogden told me to meet you, she couldn't leave him to-day. He's no better for the cure—they say he's worse; but you'll judge for yourself when you see him."
They bumped down the High Street and on to the esplanade. A weak, watery sunshine played over the sea and the asphalt. Walking stiffly, with his hands behind his back, General Brooke was taking the air. A smell of seaweed and dried fish came in through the open windows and mingled with the pungent, musty smell of the fly. The cliffs that circled the bay looked white and spectral, and far away they could just discern the chimneys of Glory Point, sticking up in a fold of green. Joan roused herself from a deadly lethargy that had been creeping over her.
"How is Mother?" she asked.
Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. "Just the same," she said. "Very worried about your father, of course, but just the same as usual." She was staring at Joan with hard, anxious eyes, her lips a little compressed. "I'm glad you've come back, Joan, because——" She did not finish her sentence, and the cab drew up at Leaside.
They got out, tugging at their bags. Milly rang the bell impatiently. Elizabeth pulled Joan back.
"Look here," she said in a low voice, "I'm not coming in, but, Joan—remember your promise to me." And before Joan could answer she had turned and walked quickly away.
2
Mrs. Ogden met them in the hall; her eyes were red. She flung her arms around Joan's neck and began to cry again.
"Your poor father, he's very ill. Oh, Joan, it's been so terrible all alone in London without a soul to speak to or to appeal to! You don't know what I've been through; don't leave me again, I couldn't bear it!"