“It’s not true! I used no trick!”
“What then do you call it?” he jeered. “What of your heart rending appeals to my generosity, ma’am? What of those affecting letters you wrote to me?”
“I didn’t!” she said. “I would scorn to do such a thing!”
“Very fine talking! But it won’t answer, Miss Grantham. I have your last billet in my pocket at this moment.”
“I cannot conceive what you mean!” she exclaimed. “I only sent you one letter in my life, and that I did not write myself as you must very well know!”
“What?” demanded Ravenscar incredulously. “Do you stand there telling me you did not beg me to meet you in the Park this evening, because you dared not let it be known by your aunt that you were ready to come to terms with me?”
An expression of horrified dismay came into Miss Grantham’s face. “Show me that letter!” she said, in a stifled voice.
“I am—thanks to your stratagems, ma’am—unable to oblige you. If you want to continue this farce, you may feel for it in the inner pocket of my coat.”
She hesitated for a moment, and then moved forward, and slid her hand into his pocket. “I do want to see it. If you are not lying to me—”
“Do not judge me by yourself, I beg of you!” snapped Ravenscar.