"Here's your sister, Milly dear."
Milly looked up from the strap of her violin case. "Hullo, Joan! This is jolly, isn't it?"
Joan kissed her and shook hands with Harriet.
"I'll leave you now," said Miss Jackson, obviously anxious to get away.
Harriet raised her eyebrows. "Vieille grue!" she remarked, scarcely below her breath.
Milly laughed again, she seemed easily amused, and Joan scrutinized her closely. She was painfully thin and the laugh was a little husky; otherwise she looked much as usual at that moment. Joan's heart beat more freely; supposing it were a false alarm after all? Suppose it should be only a matter of a month or two, at most, before Milly would be quite well again and she herself free?
"How do you feel?" she inquired with ill-concealed anxiety.
"Oh, pretty fit, thank you. I think it's all rot myself. I suppose Old Scout informed you that I was going into a decline, but I beg to differ. A few weeks at Seabourne will cure me all right. Good Lord! I should just think so!" and she made a grimace.
Harriet began humming a sort of vocal five-finger exercise; Joan glared at her. Damn the woman! Couldn't she keep quiet?
Harriet laughed. "Don't slay me with a glance, my dear!"