“I never said it was trouble.”
She looked at me sharply, fearfully. Instead of being reassured, my answer seemed to have excited her fears.
“Not trouble! Then—Evelyn! what is it? Tell me quickly. Don’t quibble! Are you in love—engaged?”
“Don’t be absurd. I’ve been Miss Harding, remember! Wait till you see me! I had lessons in making up, and I really look the part. In love, indeed!”
But I knew that my colour was mounting, I could feel the burn of it in my cheeks. Charmion’s lips twitched, and her dear eyes grew misty and sad.
“It’s hateful of me, but—I don’t want to lose you! I’d be a lonely soul!”
I put my hand over hers, but said nothing. Her words had saddened me, for they accurately described my own feelings.
“You are well—there is no trouble—you are not in love. Then what was the urgent need?”
“Are you sorry to be here?”
“Yes! if you are going to prevaricate and hedge. I’ve thrown every plan to the winds to come tearing back. The least you can do—”