"A lady," the little slim maid repeated. "Her name, madam, is Miss Boyle."
"Oh, Selina!" Susannah caught her breath. "Bring her here."
The servant closed the door and Miss Chressham gave a little shudder.
The dreary, heavily furnished room, the outlook through the long bare windows on to the blank houses opposite, the strangeness of everything, even to her own plain dark dress, were a fitting background to her secret tragedy. She wondered dully how she could bear it, and shuddered again.
But there were others to think of, as there always were in the life of Susannah Chressham.
She went to the folding doors at the back of the room and softly opened them on to a darkened bedchamber.
"Do you want anything, Aunt Agatha?" she asked gently.
From the curtained bed came a muffled answer.
"No, no."