As she read this letter, anger struggled with acknowledgement in Joanna. Somehow she was thwarted by it, belittled and punished and put down, while the writer rose suddenly to a new place in her thoughts. She had to admit his right to make her feel not so much wicked as wanton and petty: but it angered her that fate had tendered him the unexpected courage to use this right. If his mother had not died at that moment Joanna tried to tell herself he would have sent a very different message. What, she wondered with deep interest, had his mother’s death meant to him? Anyhow, she begrudged the event that had strengthened him by dealing the two blows simultaneously. Could it be then that she had coveted the sole power of dealing him pain?

In reply she wrote a formal letter of sympathy, and told him that she would be busy moving house for the next few weeks.

VIII

Through the next ten days she worked with Mamie Boyd and Janet, but harder than both of them put together. She worked harder than at any time before in her life, and far more efficiently. For the time, she put her drawings and all else aside; and from early each morning till past midnight, with hurried intervals for meals, hurled herself at the set task.

She had met Louis but once since their readjustment, and then only for a few minutes in the street. He too, as if in harmony with her, had taken to working harder and longer than before.

But their one meeting had been significant, full of understanding and tremulous concord. Desire had hovered and beckoned behind the flimsy mask of his attention as Joanna told Louis how she was placed in sole charge of all the arrangements at home: and while she was speaking his dumb appeal received its answer without need of words. He was smiling, she very grave as he read the steadfast promise in her eyes.

And both Mamie, who was her elder by five years, and Janet, who had been privileged to scold her not so long ago, obeyed her without question. They carried out her plans, which were surprisingly ingenious and practical, as if she were a proved general. In every one of her actions Louis was in some way involved, but now she would not think about him. Her imagination, was a falcon, hooded and chained till the appointed moment, but all her executive faculties were sharpened. She seemed to have eyes all round her head, to dwell upon a high watch-tower, to be able to think collectively of a dozen things at one time.