There was a long pause. Shawe, driven into a corner, said nothing, and did not even meet her reproachful eyes. Standing on the hearth-rug he stared at the floor, opening and shutting his hands.
"Well," said Audrey, after a pause, and very impatiently, "what do you say?"
"I wrote the letter, and for a very good reason," admitted the young man, nervously.
"What is the reason?" she demanded, looking at him searchingly.
"I can't tell you, Audrey; don't ask me."
"But I do ask you, and you must tell me. Why did you write that letter?"
"If you will have the truth," burst out Shawe, "I wished to spare you pain."
"So you said in the letter," Audrey assured him, coolly; "but what pain is it that you wish to spare me?"
"Never mind; never mind." Ralph impatiently waved his hand. "You should not be here, Audrey. Let me take you back home."
The girl laughed bitterly. "Is that all you have to say? I don't leave this room until you tell me the truth. I want to know why you wrote an anonymous letter instead of speaking to me openly."