“Much rather. Indeed, I am afraid this is going to be an afternoon of confessions.”
She glanced at him and then at a letter which the servant had given her when Everitt came in.
“Will you excuse me,” she said, “if I read my letter?”
It contained no more than a few lines, but Mrs Marchmont took an unusual time in reading them. When she had finished, she refolded the note and laid it by her side.
“Confessions!” she said. “They will have a great air of novelty from you. What have you been about, Charlie? Forgetting your engagements?”
“No. Only carrying them out too faithfully. You remember that I undertook to supply a model for your friend, Miss Lascelles?”
Mrs Marchmont took the letter she had laid down again into her hand.
“Yes,” she answered. “And you carried out your undertaking. Has anything happened?”
“Why?” he asked quickly.
“Because you told me you had a confession to make, and because this note may have something to do with it. It is from Mrs Lascelles.”