It must have been the
lips. And even if not--if the woman had licked the brush! It was a
silly trick people do. Perhaps she liked the taste. She pulled herself
together and tapped at the door.
Mrs. Phillips gave a little start at seeing her; but was glad that she
had come. Phillips had not been down for two days and she had been
feeling lonesome. She persisted in talking more than Joan felt was good
for her. She was feeling so much better, she explained. Joan was
relieved when the nurse came back from her walk and insisted on her lying
down. She dropped to sleep while Joan and the nurse were having their
tea.
Joan went back by the early train. She met some people at the station
that she knew and travelled up with them. That picture of Mrs.
Phillips's tongue just showing beyond the line of Mrs. Phillips's cheek
remained at the back of her mind; but it was not until she was alone in
her own rooms that she dared let her thoughts return to it.
The suggestion that was forcing itself into her brain was
monstrous--unthinkable. That, never possessed of any surplus vitality,
and suffering from the added lassitude of illness, the woman should have
become indifferent--willing to let a life that to her was full of fears
and difficulties slip peacefully away from her, that was possible.
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