CHAPTER NINE“You!” she cried with loathing. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve hired this cottage. I thought it would make a good place for us to meet. So obliging of you to come in answer to my letter.”
“Your letter? But – ”
She stopped. The hideous truth was becoming clear to her.
“Of course, my letter. How else could I have got you here?”
“You can’t have written it,” she said, her breath coming in little gasps. “It started, ‘Forgive me.’ You could never have known that we’d quarrelled.”
Stanislaus gave his strange, silent laugh, and it chilled her blood.
“My dear lady, I had no idea that you and Elswick had quarrelled until you told me just now. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about women in many delightful years spent pursuing them, it is that every woman thinks her lover is
