Читать книгу Wintersmoon онлайн

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The telephone bell rang sharply from the other room. She slipped out of bed, looking at her watch as she did so. Nine o'clock! She had no idea that it was so late.

Old Mrs. Beddoes, who came in the mornings to clean up, was in the other room busy with the breakfast.

"I was wondering whether to wake you, Miss. I thought I'd leave Miss Rosalind. She's sound as sound. The telephone, Miss. I was just a-going to answer it myself."

Janet raised the receiver: "Yes?" she said. "Who is it?"

"Janet, is that you?"

It was Wildherne's voice. The colour mounted, flushed her forehead under her dark hair.

"Yes, Wildherne, good-morning."

"I do hope I'm not too early. I didn't wake you?"

"No, no. I've been awake some time."

There was a pause. She felt that she should say something. She was terribly conscious of Mrs. Beddoes.

His voice, level, kindly, unperturbed, went on:

"It is only that I have told my mother and father. They are so happy that it is good to see."

"I'm glad." Her voice trembled a little.