“Well,” said the Colonel, “please understand I mean that you should sign this letter, and, indeed, seeing how absolutely you are in the wrong, I do not think that you can hesitate to do so.”
Then very slowly and unwillingly, Edward Cossey took up a pen, affixed his signature to the letter, blotted it, and pushed it from him.
The Colonel folded it up, placed it in an envelope which he had ready, and put it in his pocket.
“Now, Mr. Cossey,” he said, “I will wish you good-morning. Another time I should recommend you to be more careful, both of your facts and the manner of your accusations,” and with a slight bow he left the room.
“Curse the fellow,” thought Edward to himself as the front door closed, “he had me there—I was forced to sign. Well, I will be even with him about Ida, at any rate. I will propose to her this very day, Belle or no Belle, and if she won’t have me I will call the money in and smash the whole thing up”—and his handsome face bore a very evil look, as he thought of it.
That very afternoon he started in pursuance of this design, to pay a visit to the Castle. The Squire was out, but Miss de la Molle was at home. He was ushered into the drawing-room, where Ida was working, for it was a wet and windy afternoon.
She rose to greet him coldly enough, and he sat down, and then came a pause which she did not seem inclined to break.
At last he spoke. “Did the Squire get my letter, Miss de la Molle?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered, rather icily. “Colonel Quaritch sent it up.”
“I am very sorry,” he added confusedly, “that I should have put myself in such a false position. I hope that you will give me credit for having believed my accusation when I made it.”