"In my room, darling," came the answer from behind a closed door. "I'll be down in a minute; you wait where you are."
Joan wandered about the drawing-room. It had changed very little in all these years; the wallpaper was the same, though faded now, there were the same pink curtains and chairs, all shabby and reflecting the fallen family fortunes. The turquoise blue tiles in the grate alone remained startlingly bright and aggressive. The engraving of Admiral Sir William Routledge looked down on her as if with interest; she wondered if he were pleased or angry at the step his descendant was about to take; perhaps, as he had been a man of action, he was pleased. "'Nelson's Darling' ought at least to admire my courage!" she thought ruefully, and turned her back on him. She sat down in the Nelson arm-chair.
Nelson's chair, how her mother had treasured it, how she did still; her poor little mother. Joan patted the extended arms with tender hands, and rested her head wearily where Nelson's head was said to have rested. "Good-bye," she murmured, with a lump in her throat.
3
She began to feel anxious about her mother. It was five minutes to ten; what on earth was she doing? In another five minutes Elizabeth would come with the fly. Her mother had told her to wait in the drawing-room, but she could not wait much longer, she must go and find her. At that moment the door opened quietly and Mrs. Ogden came in. She was all in grey; a soft, pearly grey, the colour of doves' feathers. Her hair was carefully piled, high on her head, and blended in softness and shine with the grey of her dress; she must have bathed her eyes, for they looked bright again and almost young. She came forward, stretching out her arms.
Joan sprang up. "Mother! It's—why it's the old dress, the same dress you wore years ago on our last Anniversary Day. Oh! I remember it so well; that's the dress that made you look like a grey dove, I remember thinking that." The outstretched arms folded round her. "What made you put it on to-day?" she faltered, "it makes you look so pretty!"
Mrs. Ogden stroked her cheek. "I wanted you to remember me like this," she whispered. "And, Joan, this is Anniversary Day."
Joan started. "So it is," she stammered, "and I had forgotten."
The door-bell clanged loudly. "Let the charwoman answer it." said Mrs. Ogden, "she's here this morning."
They heard the front door open and close.