"My God!" she whispered; "it's you—Neil!"
I think she would have fallen, but I came to her side, and putting my arm round her shoulders gently forced her into one of the chairs. Then I knelt in front of her and took her hands in mine. I saw it was no good trying to deceive her.
"I didn't know," I said simply; "I followed George here."
"What have they done to you?" she moaned. "What have they done to you, my Neil? And your hands—oh, your poor dear hands!"
She burst out crying, and bending down pressed her face against my fingers.
"Don't, Joyce," I said, a little roughly. "For God's sake don't do that."
Half unconsciously I pulled away my hands, which three years in
Dartmoor had certainly done nothing to improve.
My abrupt action seemed to bring Joyce to herself. She left off sobbing, and with a sudden hurried glance round the room jumped up from her chair.
"I must speak to Jack—now at once," she whispered. "He mustn't let any one else into the flat."
She stopped for a moment to dry her eyes, which were still wet with tears, and then walking quickly to the door disappeared into the passage. She was only gone for a few seconds. I just had time to get to my feet when she came back into the room, and shutting the door behind her, turned the key in the lock. Then with a little gasp she leaned against the wall. For the first time I realized what an amazingly beautiful girl she had grown into.