They took long walks and climbs,
returning tired and hungry, looking forward to their dinner and the
evening talk with the few other guests on the veranda. The days passed
restfully in that hidden valley. The great white mountains closed her
in. They seemed so strong and clean.
It was on the morning they were leaving that a telegram was put into her
hands. Mrs. Phillips was ill at lodgings in Folkestone. She hoped that
Joan, on her way back, would come to see her.
She showed the telegram to her father. "Do you mind, Dad, if we go
straight back?" she asked.
"No, dear," he answered, "if you wish it."
"I would like to go back," she said.
CHAPTER XIII
Mrs. Phillips was sitting up in an easy chair near the heavily-curtained
windows when Joan arrived. It was a pleasant little house in the old
part of the town, and looked out upon the harbour. She was startlingly
thin by comparison with what she had been; but her face was still
painted. Phillips would run down by the afternoon train whenever he
could get away. She never knew when he was coming, so she explained; and
she could not bear the idea of his finding her "old and ugly.
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