"Won't you sit down, Mr. Trojan?" she said, smiling at him. "It is good of you to have taken so much trouble simply about a few letters—and you really might have written, mightn't you, and saved yourself a personal visit?"
He refused to sit down and drew himself up. "Now I warn you, Miss Feverel," he said, "that this is no laughing matter. You are doing a very foolish thing in keeping the letters—very foolish—ah! um! You must, of course, see that—exceedingly foolish!"
He came to a pause. It was really rather difficult to know what to say next.
"Ah, Mr. Trojan," she answered, "you must leave me to judge about the foolishness of it. After all, they are my letters."
"Pure waste of time," he answered, his voice getting a little shrill. "After all, there can be no question about it. We must have the letters—we are ready to go to some lengths to obtain them—even—ah, um—money——"
"Now, Mr. Trojan," she said quickly, "you are scarcely polite. But I am sure that you will see no reason for prolonging this interview when I say that, under no circumstances whatever, can I return the letters. That is my unchanging decision."
He had no words; he stared at her, dumb with astonishment. This open defiance was the very last thing that he had expected. Then, at last—
"You refuse?" he said with a little gasp.
"Yes," she answered lightly, "and I cannot see anything very astonishing in my refusal. They are my property, and it is nobody else's business at all."
"But it is," he almost screamed. "Business! Why, I should think it was! Do you think we want to have a scandal throughout the kingdom? Do you imagine that it would be pleasant for us to have our name in all the papers—our name that has never known disgrace since the days of William the Conqueror? You can have," he added solemnly, "very little idea of the value of a name if you imagine that we are going to tolerate its abuse in this fashion. Dear me, no!"