Still unperturbed, he went on in his mechanically precise way. "I've made it my business to find out about Granthope, Cly. It shouldn't surprise you—you know I'm in earnest about wanting you. I'm as earnest, too, in wanting to protect you. I don't propose to hold my tongue when I find that you're trusting in a man that's knifing you behind your back."
Her voice rang with pride and scorn as she rose, saying, "I don't care to discuss the matter further, Blanchard."
"Not when I say that I have seen notes in Granthope's own handwriting that were given to a medium as a part of a deliberate scheme? These notes were on definite things he had learned, I'm sure, from his conversations with you. Some of them are personal matters that I'm sure you wouldn't at all care to have made public. You could easily prove it if you saw them."
She had lost courage again, and hesitated, staring at him.
Then she said, freezing, "Let me see them, then. If you're determined to have a scene, you may as well follow the rules of melodrama."
"I can't show them, because this medium wouldn't let them out of his possession. But I can get him to let you see them, if you like."
"You say they are about things we—that I talked about?"
"Yes."
"Things—about—me?"
"Yes. I forget all of them. I had only a moment's glance."