"Are you mad, to anger me in this fashion?" she said, balling her little gloved hands wrathfully. Had there been real lightning in her eyes I'd have been dead this long while. "Do you dare believe that I knew you lived in this apartment?"
"I ... haven't the hat."
"You dared to search it?"—drawing herself up to a supreme height, which was something less than five-feet-two.
I became angry, and somehow found myself.
"I never pry into other people's affairs. You are the last person I expected to see this night."
"Will you answer a single question? I promise not to intrude further upon your time, which, doubtless, is very valuable. Have you either the hat or the letter?"
"Neither. I knew nothing about any letter till Mr. Chittenden came. But he came too late."
"Too late?"—in an agonized whisper.
"Yes, too late. I had, unfortunately, given his hat to another gentleman who made a trifling mistake in thinking it to be his own." Suddenly my manners returned to me. "Will you come in?"