“I wanted you to hear. I thought then that you had treated me very badly. In fact, I am not at all sure that I don’t think so still.”
I left the window in which we were standing, and went back to the armchair which Mrs. Barrett had once so abundantly filled.
“I want to ask you something,” I said; “what was it—why—I mean, what made you write me that letter?”
“Because, under the circumstances, it was about the only thing for me to do”—in a tone which told of past indignation. “I was warned off!”
“I never warned you,” I said, trying to appear absorbed in studying the figures on the Japanese screen that I was holding.
“No, I dare say you did not; but it came to pretty nearly the same thing when you got your uncle to do it for you.”
“I! I never did anything of the kind!”
“But your uncle himself told me——” he began, and stopped.
“Told you what?” I said, sitting bolt upright.
“Well,” he answered reluctantly, “that last day I was at Durrus—after the ball, you know—your uncle sent for me, and he told me you were engaged to Willy.”