“Sit down,” begged Anne, cordially. “I was just coming up to see you.”
“Thank you,” said the Vicar, dropping heavily into the chair she indicated.
“I saw Sylvia only yesterday. She sent many messages to you, and to her mother.”
“Thank you,” repeated the Vicar. “It is distressing to me, but I am constrained to say I’m sorry you saw her,” he added after a moment’s hesitation.
Anne looked at him in silence, and Mr. Carfax cleared his throat.
“Miss Page,” he began, “I am here to speak on a very painful subject, and I think the sooner I mention it the better.”
“Certainly,” said Anne, drawing herself back against the cushions of her chair.
“I repeat, I am sorry you have seen my child, because in future, I say it with great reluctance, I wish her acquaintance with you to cease.”
Anne still waited in silence, and again the Vicar cleared his throat. It was difficult to talk with her eyes upon him, and his carefully prepared speeches seemed a trifle ridiculous.
“I’d better tell you the history of this affair from the beginning,” he broke out abruptly. “Shortly it is this. Some two or three weeks ago I received a private letter from a lady whose name I will not mention——”