“I’ll come to your room, dear. Wait up for me.”
The time had come when I was to hear Charmion’s story from her own lips!
Chapter Thirteen.
More Bitter than Death.
Charmion came to my room in her white dressing-gown, with her long hair hanging plaited down her back. Remembering the icy hands I had held in mine, I had lit the gas fire, and she cowered gratefully over its warmth.
“Kind of you, dear! Warmth is comforting. Well, Evelyn, so the time has come. I have waited, screwing up my courage; but the hour has been decided for us.”
“Not unless you choose,” I cried hastily. “I would far rather never hear—”
She checked me with a wan smile.