"Wait a minute, Mother dear; I must get my trunk in. Yes, please, cabby—upstairs, if you don't mind; the back room."
"She kept the kitchen filthy; I've been down there since she left and the sink made me feel quite sick! I've thought for some time she was dishonest and brought men in the evenings, and now I'm sure of it; there's hardly a grain of coffee left and I can't find the pound of bacon I bought only the day before yesterday."
"Oh! I do wish we hadn't lost her!" said Joan inconsequently. "Have you been to the registry office?"
"No, of course not; what time have I had? You'll have to do that to-morrow."
Joan went upstairs and began unstrapping her trunk. She did not attempt to analyse her feelings; they were too confused and she was very tired. She wanted to sit down and gloat over the past two weeks, to recapture some of their fun and freedom and companionship; above all she did not want to think of registry offices.
Mrs. Ogden came into her room. "You haven't kissed me yet, darling."
Joan longed to say: "You didn't give me a chance, did you?" But something in the small, thin figure that stood rather wistfully before her, as if uncertain of its welcome, made her kiss her mother in silence.
"Have you had any tea?" she asked, patting Mrs. Ogden's arm.
"No, I felt too tired to get it, but it might do my head good if you could make some really strong tea, darling."
Joan left her trunk untouched, and turned to the door. "All right, I'll have it ready in a quarter of an hour," she said.