You ought to think only of him
and of his work. Nothing else matters." If she could say that to Joan,
what might she not have said to her mother who, so clearly, she divined
to be the incubus--the drag upon her father's career? She could hear the
child's dry, passionate tones--could see Mrs. Phillips's flabby cheeks
grow white--the frightened, staring eyes. Where her father was concerned
the child had neither conscience nor compassion. She had waited her
time. It was a few days after Hilda's return to school that Mrs.
Phillips had been first taken ill.
She flung herself from the bed and drew the blind. A chill, grey light
penetrated the room. It was a little before five. She would go round to
Phillips, wake him up. He must be told.
With her hat in her hands, she paused. No. That would not do. Phillips
must never know. They must keep the secret to themselves. She would go
down and see the woman; reason with her, insist. She went into the other
room. It was lighter there. The "A.B.C." was standing in its usual
place upon her desk.
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