Paula.
Look here. I've intercepted some letters from Mrs. Cortelyon and Ellean to—him. [Producing three unopened letters from the bodice of her dress.] There are the accursed things! From Paris—two from the Cortelyon woman, the other from Ellean!
Drummle.
But why—why?
Paula.
I don't know. Yes, I do! I saw letters coming from Ellean to her father; not a line to me—not a line. And one morning it happened I was downstairs before he was, and I spied this one lying with his heap on the breakfast-table, and I slipped it into my pocket—out of malice, Cayley, pure devilry! And a day or two afterwards I met Elwes the postman at the Lodge, and took the letters from him, and found these others amongst 'em. I felt simply fiendish when I saw them—fiendish! [Returning the letters to her bodice.] And now I carry them about with me, and they're scorching me like a mustard plaster!
Drummle.
Oh, this accounts for Aubrey not hearing from Paris lately!
Paula.
That's an ingenious conclusion to arrive at! Of course it does! [With an hysterical laugh.] Ha, ha!