Her eyelids fluttered. She looked up at him quickly. "I don't attempt to explain it," she said; "but I certainly agree with you that one of us must have written it—any fool can see that; but which of us?"
She paused for a moment, and then looked him straightly in the face, defiant and at bay at last.
"But which of us?" she repeated. "That's the point upon which we shall differ, Colling."
"I see," he said. "You mean that you will endeavour to father this cowardly trick upon me?"
Alice Attwill smiled bitterly. "The public will judge," she said. "Ever since that night have I not been in constant attendance here, her devoted and trusted friend?—while you—I thought you had been forbidden the house."
"That's a lie," Collingwood said sharply.
"It is quite unnecessary to become abusive," she went on, her voice gaining confidence for a moment and her manner becoming infinitely more assured. "You are in a very tight corner, and the sooner you recognise the fact the better it will be for you."
"You think you can threaten me?" Collingwood asked quietly.
"I know my cards," she replied, "and what I can do with them. You needn't try to bluff me, Colling, for I know your cards too. Even if I did write that letter—how can you ever prove it? You can assert it, but who will believe you—you who stand convicted of decoying your friend's wife to Paris to attempt her seduction?..."
He winced at that. Even in his present mood of penitence and help, it was a palpable hit.