Mrs. Keith explained at some length the daily routine that Joan must follow, and went into the minutest details regarding the patient's menu.
"He do be greedy, a bit," she remarked apologetically. "Them as is mentally afflicted often is, the doctor says. The way he eats would surprise you, considering how little exercise he takes! But his stomach is that weak, and he's given to vomiting something awful if I'se not careful what he gets; so the doctor, 'e says to me, 'e says, 'Better give him light meals in between times,' 'e says, 'so as to fill him up, like.' He's a poor afflicted gentleman," she repeated once more, with real regret in her voice. "But he'll be all right with you, miss, never fear; I knows 'im and he's that fond of I, it's touching. You see, miss, I'se known 'im for thirty-five years."
"If I want advice I shall certainly come to you, Mrs. Keith," Joan told her gratefully. "But I expect I'll get on all right, as you say."
She felt very tired after the journey and longed painfully to lie down and rest. Her brain seemed muddled and she was so afraid she might forget something.
"Was it Benger's at eleven and beef-tea at four, or the other way round?" she asked anxiously.
"It were the other way round, miss; don't you think you'd better write it down?"
"Perhaps I had," Joan agreed, fishing in her jacket pocket for her little notebook.
"Now, then," she said, trying hard to speak brightly. "Now then, Mrs. Keith, we'd better make a list. Hot milk coloured with coffee, that's when he wakes up, I understand; then beef-tea at eleven o'clock, and his cough mixture at twelve-thirty. He has Benger's at tea-time and again before going to bed. Oh, I shall soon get into it all, I expect. I'm used to invalids, you see."