"Again?" said Elizabeth.
Edith felt that she was not being wise. But jealousy is of all passions the most pig-headed; it only says "I must know, I must know!"
"Yes, you heard from him a week ago."
Elizabeth, who had been startled by her cousin's entry, was cool enough now. She perfectly understood what prompted this catechism. But little did Edith know how gallant a battle was being fought on her behalf by the girl whom she now so utterly distrusted and suspected; little also did she know that which Elizabeth was using her whole strength to conceal.
Elizabeth laughed; she meant to laugh, anyhow; the effort might pass for a laugh.
"Yes, I believe I did," she said. "And as for that, I rather fancy you have been hearing from him every day."
"Naturally. Did he say in his letter to you when he expected to come down here again? He has not told me that."
"No, he did not mention it, as far as I remember. He appears to be very busy."
"He appears to have time to write very long letters to you!" said Edith, hatred and resentment flashing out. Till that moment she had not known that she hated her cousin.
Elizabeth opened her blotting-book, took out of it her unfinished letter, and from under it Edward's. She slipped them into a piece of music that lay there, and, holding it in her hand, stood up and left the table.