"There is a scene in it. The hero and heroine make love. Do you
know about that?"
"Dear--?"
"Do you know about it, please?" she repeated. "They are on a
hillside, and Florence is in the distance."
"My good Lucia, I am all at sea. I know nothing about it
whatever."
"There are violets. I cannot believe it is a coincidence.
Charlotte, Charlotte, how could you have told her? I have thought
before speaking; it must be you."
"Told her what?" she asked, with growing agitation.
"About that dreadful afternoon in February."
Miss Bartlett was genuinely moved. "Oh, Lucy, dearest girl--she
hasn't put that in her book?"
Lucy nodded.
"Not so that one could recognize it. Yes."
"Then never--never--never more shall Eleanor Lavish be a friend
of mine."
"So you did tell?"
"I did just happen--when I had tea with her at Rome--in the
course of conversation--"
"But Charlotte--what about the promise you gave me when we were
packing? Why did you tell Miss Lavish, when you wouldn't even let
me tell mother?"
"I will never forgive Eleanor.
Pages:
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299