“How did you get these?” she demanded angrily, as she seized them in her hand. “Is thieving one of your proclivities, Miss Leyton?”
“No, Miss Brandt, thieving, as you elegantly put it, is not one of my proclivities! But Captain Pullen has been staying in the house of my father, Lord Walthamstowe, at Richmond, and left those letters behind him—thrown in the empty grate just as they are, a proof of how much he valued them! One of the housemaids, whilst setting his room in order after his departure, found them and brought them to me. So I determined that I would return them to your hands myself!”
“And have you read them?” demanded Harriet.
“I have read them! I considered it my duty!”
“Your duty!” replied the other, scornfully, “what duty is there in a mean, dishonourable action like that? What right had you to interfere with things that don’t belong to you? These letters concern myself and Captain Pullen alone!”
“I deny that, Miss Brandt! They concern me quite as much, if not more—Captain Pullen is my affianced husband! We are to be married in the spring!”
“I don’t believe it!” cried Harriet, starting to her feet. “A woman who would read letters not addressed to her, would say anything! You are not engaged to be married to Captain Pullen!”
“Indeed! And on what grounds do you refuse to believe my statement?”
“Because he made love to me all the time he was in Heyst! Because he used to kiss me and tell me again and again that I was the only woman who had ever touched his heart! Because he had arranged to follow the Baroness’s party to Brussels, only to be near me, and he would have done so, had you not prevented him!”
Her great eyes were blazing with indignation and mortified vanity—her slender hands were clenched—she looked as if she were about to spring upon her rival and tear her to pieces—whilst Miss Leyton sat there, calm and collected—and smiled at her ravings.