‘What’s amiss, my dear life?’ Madeleine drew a hissing breath through her teeth and shut her eyes, blushing crimson.
‘Er ... did ... er ... did he seem to find it odd, what you told him about my falling ill, and all that?’
‘Dearest heart, here is no matter for concern. You see I was constrained to make mention of your health that it should so work on his pity that he should feel constrained to acquit himself towards you and——’
‘Yes, but what did you say?’
‘I said naught, my dear, that in any way he could take ill. I did but acquaint him with the eagerness with which you had awaited the visit and with the bitterness of your chagrin when you heard it was not to be.’
‘But I thought you said that you’d said somewhat concerning—er—my making myself ill?’
‘Well, and what if I did? You little goose, you——’
‘Yes, but what did you say?’
‘How can I recall my precise words? But I give you my word they were such that none could take amiss.’