“Of course I ’ll come and sit with you a little,” he replied kindly.
They entered her room together. Yvonne lay down. Her head was splitting with nervous headache. The Canon tended her in his grave way and sat down by the window with a book. Yvonne felt very guilty, but yet comforted by his presence. At the end of an hour, he looked at his watch and rose from his seat.
“Are you easier now?”
“You are not going to the Kursaal, Everard?”
“I am afraid Emmeline is expecting me.” She signed to him to approach, and put her arms round his neck.
“Don’t go. Send her an excuse—and take me for a drive. It would do me good, and I should so love to be alone with you.”
It was the very first time in her life that Yvonne had consciously cajoled a man. Her face flushed hot with misgivings. It was with a mixture of her sex’s shame and triumph that she heard him say.
“Whatever you like, dear. It is still your holiday.”