“It is mine. You have no right to read it.”
For a long moment Seff simply looked at her. Then he took the lavender-bordered ’kerchief from his sleeve and with it wiped his lips.
“Well met,” said he at last, “Miss Nectarine.”
“You have no right to open a sealed and stamped letter intended for the mails,” Dolores insisted. “Will you give it back to me or shall I appeal to the head of this institution?”
“Appeal. I am the head of the institution. I have a right to do whatsoever I see fit within its hallowed walls.” The satisfaction of his smile increased.
Mrs. Hutton, a shade grayer, calmer and handsomer, at first had looked chiefly astonished. Now she intervened.
“Best give it back, Vin. Being what you are—or rather, what you aren’t—you can have no interest in the affairs of this girl, unless that——”
“Unless that I do feel so obligated by my debts and her I owe so much. But take your delicate little effusion. I couldn’t possibly forget a word of it.”
Her letter in hand, Dolores turned and was about to undertake the stairs again, when he stopped her.
“Just a moment, Miss Trent. How long will it take you to retreat yourself out of here?”