He saw that she was very nervous.
She was staring at the fire, and he could look at her without meeting her eyes.
She was much thinner than when she had left him; and the skin, yellow and dryish, was drawn more tightly over her cheekbones.
She had dyed her hair and it was now flaxen: it altered her a good deal, and made her look more vulgar.
"I was relieved to get your letter, I can tell you," she said at last. "I thought p'raps you weren't at the 'ospital any more."
Philip did not speak.
"I suppose you're qualified by now, aren't you?"
"No."
"How's that?"
"I'm no longer at the hospital.
I had to give it up eighteen months ago."
"You are changeable.
You don't seem as if you could stick to anything."
Philip was silent for another moment, and when he went on it was with coldness.
"I lost the little money I had in an unlucky speculation and I couldn't afford to go on with the medical.
I had to earn my living as best I could."
"What are you doing then?"
"I'm in a shop."
"Oh!"
She gave him a quick glance and turned her eyes away at once.
He thought that she reddened.
She dabbed her palms nervously with the handkerchief.
"You've not forgotten all your doctoring, have you?"
She jerked the words out quite oddly.
"Not entirely."
"Because that's why I wanted to see you." Her voice sank to a hoarse whisper. "I don't know what's the matter with me."
"Why don't you go to a hospital?"
"I don't like to do that, and have all the stoodents staring at me, and I'm afraid they'd want to keep me."
"What are you complaining of?" asked Philip coldly, with the stereotyped phrase used in the out-patients' room.
"Well, I've come out in a rash, and I can't get rid of it."
Philip felt a twinge of horror in his heart.
Sweat broke out on his forehead.
"Let me look at your throat?"
He took her over to the window and made such examination as he could.
Suddenly he caught sight of her eyes.
There was deadly fear in them.
It was horrible to see.
She was terrified.
She wanted him to reassure her; she looked at him pleadingly, not daring to ask for words of comfort but with all her nerves astrung to receive them: he had none to offer her.
"I'm afraid you're very ill indeed," he said.
"What d'you think it is?"
When he told her she grew deathly pale, and her lips even turned, yellow. she began to cry, hopelessly, quietly at first and then with choking sobs.
"I'm awfully sorry," he said at last. "But I had to tell you."
"I may just as well kill myself and have done with it."
He took no notice of the threat.
"Have you got any money?" he asked.
"Six or seven pounds."
"You must give up this life, you know.
Don't you think you could find some work to do?
I'm afraid I can't help you much. I only get twelve bob a week."