"Two thousand wouldn't pay me
for this!"
He put the handkerchief back, took the envelopes which he had addressed
to himself out of his pocket, and, approaching her closely for the first
time, laid his hand on her arm.
"Rouse yourself," he said, "I have a last word to say to you. Can you
listen?"
She struggled, and roused herself--a faint tinge of color stole over her
white cheeks--she bowed her head.
"Look at these," pursued Captain Wragge, holding up the envelopes. "If
I turn these to the use for which they have been written, Mrs. Lecount's
master will never receive Mrs. Lecount's letter. If I tear them up, he
will know by to-morrow's post that you are the woman who visited him in
Vauxhall Walk. Say the word! Shall I tear the envelopes up, or shall I
put them back in my pocket?"
There was a pause of dead silence. The murmur of the summer waves on the
shingle of the beach and the voices of the summer idlers on the Parade
floated through the open window, and filled the empty stillness of the
room.
She raised her head; she lifted her hand and pointed steadily to the
envelopes.
"Put them back," she said.
"Do you mean it?" he asked.
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