“Are you sure, Leslie?”
“Yes, I am sure.”
“Go down-stairs and ask Alexander.”
Leslie went and came back immediately with Alexander’s positive assertion that the letter was directed to Mrs. Archibald Braelands, Sophy made no answer, but there was a swift and remarkable change in her appearance and manner. She put her physical weakness out of her consideration, and with a flush on her cheeks and a flashing light in her eyes, she went down to the parlour. Madame had a caller with her, a lady of not very decided position, who was therefore eager to please her patron; but Sophy was beyond all regard for such conventionalities as she had been ordered to observe. She took no notice of the visitor, but going straight to Madame, she said:—
“You took my letter this morning. You had no right to take it; you had no right to read it; you had no right to make up lies from it and come to my bedside with them. Give me my letter.”
Madame turned to her visitor. “You see this impossible creature!” she cried. “She demands from me a letter that never came.” “It did come. You have my letter. Give it to me.”
“My dear Sophy, go to your room. You are not in a fit state to see any one.”
“Give me my letter. At least, let me see the letter that came.”
“I shall do nothing of the kind. If you choose to suspect me, you must do so. Can I make your husband write to you?”
“He did write to me.”