“Why did you not come when I wanted you?” she asked, bitterly.
“I would have, but how could I without knowing where you were?”
She paused in indecision.
“I’m sorry. You are too late, Dick,” and she shook her head mournfully.
“Oh, don’t say that,” I cried, not knowing what to think. “Has some misfortune befallen you? Tell me what it is. You surely know that you can trust me.”
“Trust you!”
There was bitterness, nay mockery, in her voice.
“Good heavens, yes! Why not?” I cried.
“There is no one in whom I can trust. I can trust you, Mr Ashton, least of all—now.”
Evidently she was labouring under some terrible delusion. Had some one slandered me—poisoned her mind against me?