Anne’s smile was a triumph of indifference.
“Indeed?” she said coolly. “She looks like quite a child, doesn’t she?”
She sat down calmly upon the chair beside the bed.
Angered by her serenity, he flung her a look of mingled hatred and remorse.
“I suppose you are wondering why I didn’t tell you about her yesterday?” he grumbled.
She lifted her brows in astonishment, her green eyes met his coolly beneath unfathomable lashes.
“Not at all, it is your own affair, isn’t it?” her voice was icy.
“Ah, you are angry!” he exclaimed with satisfaction. “I can see you are. I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you that I completely forgot all about her?”
“Hardly!” Anne’s lips tightened unconsciously.
“Well, believe it or not, that is the truth! My so-called wife counts for so little in my life, I seldom even think of her, and when you asked to whom we should write yesterday, she never entered my head. That is the only explanation I have to offer.”