She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. “I cannot keep silence any longer. In truth, she would quite like to have him rescue her. If I could but——” To escape from her thoughts she began to undress, humming a light tune to herself, though her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and the sobs kept rising in her throat. I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. But you could have just as easily lost your womb in the Pestilence, and your life. I will no longer be a burthen to those upon whom I have no claim, but compassion. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain.
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