“Very well, I will go,” she pouted. “I have said all I have to say. I hope you both enjoy your evening!”
She turned away and with a rustle of her expensive silk petticoats swept towards the door. Only as she reached it did she begin to laugh, the high mocking laughter of a woman who knows that she is triumphant, knows that she has dealt a mortal blow and glories in her power to destroy.
The door closed behind her and there was silence, save for the racking tearing sobs that came from Gisela’s throat. Slowly and heavily the Squire sat down in the chair beside which she crouched.
Then he laid his hand gently on her head.
“Don’t cry, Gisela,” he said. “I wish to talk to you.”
She made an effort to obey him, but it was some moments before she could quell the flood of weeping that had over
