"I have received no letter, Mr. Paget."
"You have received no letter from me--and you will not call me Gerald!"
"I have received no letter," she repeated, "and I cannot call you--what you desire."
"Well," he said, with hot impatience, "let that rest awhile; we will speak of it again, and you will make me happy, I am sure, by doing such a very little thing as that. But my letter? I sent it to you--posted it with my own hands. Do you think I would entrust it to another?"
"How can I say? I do not even know what was in it. Five days ago! And why did you write to me? Oh, Mr. Paget, have you no regard for my helpless position?"
"Can you ask me such a question, Emilia?" he said, reproachfully. "Do you think there lives in the world a man who has a more sincere respect and esteem for you than I have?"
"No, no," she cried. "I did not intend to do you an injustice. I beg you to forgive me."
"Freely," he said, and spoke now with less impetuosity. "Whenever I have approached the subject of my love for you--do not stop me, Emilia; the words are spoken--whenever I have done that, you have begged me to desist. Well, I obeyed you; not for all the wide world, Emilia, would I cause you one moment's pain. But you did not tell me not to write, and so I wrote--what was in my heart, what is in it now, and I implored you to send me an answer soon. I am sure you would have done so had you received it."
"I do not know. The letter never reached me."
"I addressed it to the care of Mrs. Seaton."