"Yes, ye do. Where did ye get this letter?"
"He left it at—at my house last night."
"Oh! Your house! Where?"
"In the village."
"I see. An' this scrawl on the envelope—you wrote it——"
Beth couldn't reply. He was dragging her through the very depths of humiliation.
At her silence his lips curved in ugly amusement.
"Anastasie!" he muttered. "Some queen that—with her purple paper an' all. And ye don't know who she is? Or who Pete is? Answer me!"
"I—I don't know," she whispered. "I—I don't, really."
"H-m! Well, he ain't what he's seemed to be, that's sure. He ain't what he's seemed to be to you and he ain't what he's seemed to be to me. But whoever he is he can't put anything over on me. We'll see about this."