“It does not much matter whether I am convinced or not,” said George. “There is no kind of evidence to prove the identity.”
Gerald sprang up in indignation. “Do you mean that you won’t retract?”
“You can state all the facts; I shall say nothing.”
“You shall apologise, or——”
“Gerald,” said Lord Tottlebury, “this is no use.”
There was a feeling that George was behaving very badly. Everybody thought so, and said so; and all except Neaera either exhorted or besought him to confess himself the victim of an absurd mistake. As the matter had become public, nothing less could be accepted.
George wavered. “I will let you know to-morrow,” he said. “Meanwhile let me return this document to Mrs. Witt.” He took out Mrs. Horne’s letter and laid it on the table. “I have ventured to take a copy,” he said. “As the original is valuable, I thought I had better give it back.”
“Thank you,” said Neaera, and moved forward to take it.
Gerald hastened to fetch it for her. As he took it up, his eye fell on the writing, for George had laid it open on the table.
“Why, Neaera,” said he, “it’s in your handwriting!”