"A box always kept locked," commented Theodosia.
"Yes: I do keep it locked; but I might have forgotten, or have left my keys about. I don't know in the least how the thing has happened; only I am not to blame—really and truly."
Dr. Bryant gave her a look, and remained silent.
"If I had known where the note was, should I have given up the keys this morning?"
"You had no choice," Theodosia said promptly. "You did your very best to escape giving them up."
Dr. Bryant could not but recall Lettice's marked reluctance, as well as her after uneasiness, and the avowed cause which to him had seemed so inadequate. He had felt a measure of perplexity all day on the subject; and these recollections now told heavily against her.
"Of course," continued Theodosia, "you hoped that I should not come upon the note. A bit of paper crumpled up is easily overlooked. If I had not been on the look-out, we should not have noticed it."
Lettice glanced despairingly at Dr. Bryant. The ground seemed to be slipping from under her feet.
"Then this is why you have refused to speak!" he said slowly. "This—the reason! And I could trust you throughout—"
"Won't you trust me still?" besought Lettice. The temptation to tell him all was strong; but after her unfounded suspicions of Felix, it seemed too cruel to avow them to another, as a means of defending herself. Such a confession, tantamount almost to a declaration that he was not trustworthy, might never be forgotten. Lettice restrained the words which almost broke from her lips, and repeated passionately: "Won't you trust me? Won't you believe me? I had a reason for not speaking; but indeed this is the truth. I don't know how it got into my box. Indeed, I am innocent! Won't you believe me?"