“Don’t,” said Joyce, helplessly. “If you give way you will make yourself worse. They may be mistaken. Perhaps it will come again after a year or two.”
He strove to cheer her, brought forward all the arguments he could think of, all the tender phrases his unaccustomed mind could suggest. At last the tears ceased for a time.
“But it is my means of livelihood gone,” she said. “When I leave here I shall starve.”
“Not while I live,” said Joyce, impulsively. Then he reflected. Surely she could not be entirely without means. He coloured slightly at his remark, as at an impertinence.
“I shall never get any money any more as long as I live,” said Yvonne. “I can only go from this hospital into the workhouse. And I won’t go there. I will pray to die rather.”
“But,” began Joyce, in an embarrassed way,
“I don’t understand. Forgive me for touching upon it--but has not Everard--?”
“No, oh, no! I refused. I could n’t take his money, if I was not his wife.”
“That’s absurd,” said Joyce. But his opinion did not alter the facts. He remained for a moment in thought. “Don’t lose heart,” he said at length. “Things are never as bad as they seem. I ’ve had awfully bad times and yet I have pulled through, somehow. You can live quietly for a little on what you have, and then--”
“But I have n’t a penny, Stephen,” she cried piteously. “Not a penny in the world. I earned scarcely anything the last year. If it hadn’t been for Dina, I don’t know what I should have done. I don’t own anything but a few sticks of furniture and some clothes--”
“The porter’s wife at the mansions is keeping them for me, I believe. They may be sold. I was too ill to trouble.”
“I ’ll see about them for you,” said Joyce. His heart was moved with great pity for the sweet, helpless little soul. It seemed hard to realise that, when they had met four years ago, he had looked upon her as a Lady Bountiful, who had only to stretch out her kind arm to save him from starvation. Oh, the whirligig of time! And yet the memory of her help was very precious to him.
“You must let me act for you, Yvonne, will you?”
“You have your own troubles, poor fellow,” said Yvonne.
“Yours will drive mine away, so they will be a blessing in disguise. I wonder if you could trust me?”