'Quite sure, dear, don't doubt his love,' and took her hand and held it
till the car stopped at the hospital. We saw the matron first.
'He's very brave,' she said, 'and very very patient, but I'm not happy
about him, he's got something on his mind. He asked for a typist the
day before yesterday and dictated a letter. He hasn't slept since. You
can go up and see him at once if you like.'
So Ross and I went up, and the matron promised to bring Monica up in ten
minutes. Charlie was lying propped up with pillows in a little room
alone. I never saw a face with such a tortured look. It nearly broke
my heart.
'Who is it?' he asked, turning his poor, bandaged face towards the door,
and when I took his hand he said,--
'Why, it's Meg and Ross; how jolly of you, dear old things.'
'Charlie,' I said presently, 'why did you write that letter to Monica?'
and as I spoke the door was pushed open a little way and Monica slipped
in. He turned his face away.
'Meg, I can't discuss that, even with you.'
'But,' I persisted, 'don't you love her any more?'
'Love her. _My_ God, how can you ask me such a thing, how dare you
torture me like that. There's some one in the room,' he added quickly,
'oh, who is it?'