Nothing could be more courteous than his words and attitude, nothing more contemptuous than his tone and manner. It was impossible to mistake the fact that he took at a glance the measure, social and moral, of the person he was addressing. No upbraidings, no explanations were necessary. Mrs. Walker retired at once with some incoherent words which sounded like an apology, and the earl turned at once again to his daughter.
“Last week you begged of me,” he began at once, without any preface, “two letters from General Wenlock as autographs, you said. Who did you give them to?” No answer. “Was it to Amos Goodhare?”
Another pause.
Then, in a stifled voice, poor Lady Marion answered, “No, papa.”
“Who was it to, then?”
He was perfectly quiet. Rees, who was listening, with bated breath, behind the reed curtain, could only just distinguish the words.
Again Lady Marion made no answer.
The earl spoke again, after a short silence, in very measured tone.
“Your uncle Charles will be a ruined man by this time to-morrow unless we find out into what hands those letters have got. They have been used for purposes of forgery.”
The girl uttered a low cry and hid her face in her hands.