“I’m dead tired,” she said. “I’ll go to bed. Nurse ought to be here soon. Have you everything you want for the night?”
Myra said in her even tones: “Have you everything you want for the night?” And at Olivia’s quick glance of enquiry: “You look as if you’d seen a ghost. You have. I was afraid of it. I didn’t want them to send for you, but I was too ill to stop them.”
Olivia could not wreak her anger yet on the frail woman. But in her heart burned a furious indignation. She controlled her voice, and said as gently as she could:
“Why have you left me in ignorance for the past year?”
“I was biding my time,” said Myra. “I was waiting for a sign and a token.”
“From me?”
“From you, dearie. I had him here in the hollow of my hand. If you had wanted him, I could have given him to you. But you didn’t want him—so you said. I wasn’t so sure.” She stretched her thin hand on the blanket, but Olivia stood, too much enwrapped in her thoughts to notice the appeal. “When I first saw him in hospital I hoped that he would die and set you free. But when I saw him convalescent, my heart was full of pity for him, and I repented of the sin of committing murder in my heart. And when I heard from my sister in-law that he was facing life like a brave man, I wondered whether I had been wrong and whether you had been wrong. If I say something to you, will you be angry with me?”
Olivia shrugged her shoulders. “Say anything you like.”
The weak, even voice went on. “If Major Olifant hadn’t left us, I should have told you.”
Olivia leaped at the thrust, her cheeks flaming.