“About that dreadful afternoon in February.”
Miss Bartlett was genuinely moved. “Oh, Lucy, dearest girl — she hasn't put that in her book?”
Lucy nodded.
“Not so that one could recognize it. Yes.”
“Then never — never — never more shall Eleanor Lavish be a friend of mine.”
“So you did tell?”
“I did just happen — when I had tea with her at Rome — in the course of conversation — ”
“But Charlotte — what about the promise you gave me when we were packing? Why did you tell Miss Lavish, when you wouldn't even let me tell mother?”