THE OLD MAID
has had a return of her old illness. She coughed blood here today. You must not marry her.”
There: it was done. She stood up, trembling in every bone, and feeling herself pale to the lips. Had she done right? Had she done wrong? And would she ever know?
Poor Joe turned on her a face as wan as hers: he clutched the back of his armchair, his head drooping forward like an old man’s. His lips moved, but made no sound.
“My God!” Jim stammered. “But you know you’ve got to buck up, old boy.”
“I’m—I’m so sorry for you, Joe. She’ll tell you herself tomorrow,” Delia faltered, while her husband continued to proffer heavy consolations.
“Take it like a man, old chap. Think of yourself—your future. Can’t be, you
[ 70 ]
