I cannot describe how I felt seeing my most particular friend with my girl, my intended, my Evelyn, outside the theatre in what was obviously a pre-arranged assignation. Slipping into a doorway, I watched with a mixture of anger and sick despair as they walked down the street together, deep in conversation. My first instinct was to challenge them and demand an explanation.
No, I told myself. Evelyn and Charles might be innocent of any wrongdoing; their meeting could be the merest coincidence. I fought the sudden rage that consumed me. Should I follow them, as Outerston had followed me? I shook my head. No; that was not the act of a gentleman. Yet although I wished to turn away and leave my suspicions behind, I found myself dogging the pair of them, keeping well back, letting my feet hit t
