Chapter Nine
Gussie woke in the morning to the extraordinary sight of the very Miss Frostell of her plaintive imaginings. Her friend, unquestionably many miles distant the night before, was seated in a deep chair on the far side of her bedchamber, rapt in the enjoyment of a steaming cup of tea.
‘Frosty?’ she said, sitting up.
‘Good morning,’ smiled Miss Frostell.
‘But— but surely you are a dream! I had no notion I had the power to conjure up visions. How curious that I should never have happened to do it before.’
‘It would please you to no end if you could, no doubt,’ said Miss Frostell. ‘But I am not a vision. I have this moment arrived, and probably woke you as I came in, for which I am sorry. It is past eleven o’clock! You must have been excessively tired, to sleep so long.’
‘Don’
