Collingwood punctuated her shrill remarks with gentle taps of his firm hand upon the table. "You shall write to-morrow with all London looking on; they'll know I could not have done it—this book shows that. They'll hear how you tried to tear out the page."
"They won't believe you!" she gasped.
"They'll believe the evidence of Pauline," he went on calmly. "They'll hear from Peggy how you broke your arm and learnt to use your left hand. Every newspaper in England will be full of it. This is not the first time you've written with your left hand; there'll be other specimens somewhere—some other witness will be forthcoming. You have been very clever, but the cleverest of people like you bungle in the end. You've got to do it, Alice!"
Once more she sank down in the chair.
Her face was ghastly. "No!" was all that she could say.
"Believe me," he went on more calmly and more kindly—"believe me, you had better write now! Society may never know—Admaston may be generous. Come! Write! And do it quickly."
Absolutely broken and submissive, Lady Attwill took up the pen in her left hand and began to write to Collingwood's dictation.
"'Please destroy the other letter....'" he began.
She wrote the first word, and then looked up at him with a face which was a white wedge of hate.
"Quickly, please," he said, tapping his foot upon the carpet. "Now, or to-morrow with all London."