Edina: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

For a few minutes she did not reply. Frank thought that she was deliberating whether or not she should answer—and he was not mistaken. She closed her eyes again, and he took up the fan.

"I have thought, while lying here, that I should like to tell you before I die," spoke Daisy at last. "But you don't need to be told."

"I do. I do, indeed."

"It is because you no longer love me. Perhaps you never loved me at all. You care for some one else; not for me."

In very astonishment, Frank dropped the fan on the counterpane. "And who is—'some one else'?"

"Oh, you know."

"Daisy, this is a serious charge, and you must answer me. I do not know."

She turned her face towards him, without speaking. Frank waited; he was ransacking his brains.

"Surely you cannot mean Edina!"

A petulant, reproachful movement betrayed her anger. Edina! Who was an angel on earth, and so good to them all!—and older, besides. The tears began to drop slowly from her closed lashes, for she thought he must be trifling with her.