“Probably,” said Lydia, smiling as she read it. “But what shall I do if he takes offence; calls here, breaks the windows, and beats Bashville? Were I in his place, that is what such a letter would provoke me to do.”
“He dare not give any trouble. But I will warn the police if you feel anxious.”
“By no means. We must not show ourselves inferior to him in courage, which is, I suppose, his cardinal virtue.”
“If you write the note now, I will post it for you.”
“No, thank you. I will send it with my other letters.”
Lucian would rather have waited; but she would not write while he was there. So he left, satisfied on the whole with the success of his mission. When he was gone, she took a pen, endorsed his draft neatly, placed it in a drawer, and wrote to Cashel thus:
“Dear Mr. Cashel Byron,—I have just discovered your secret. I am sorry; but you must not come again. Farewell. Yours faithfully,
“Lydia Carew.”
Lydia kept this note by her until next morning, when she read it through carefully. She then sent Bashville to the post with it.