“I’ve got back the letter?”
“Sit down and don’t make a scene,” said Symington, after a moment. “Tell me about it quietly. And look here, Corrie; I was a bit rough on you last night—”
“Ye were that! But now it’s my turn—”
“One moment. I had good cause for my annoyance—you must admit that much. But after I left you, I thought it over in cold blood, and came to the only conclusion possible. You and I must continue to work together; we must stick to the original bargain—”
“Ye’ll mean that ye’ll try to marry her yet and pay me half the profits—”
“Exactly! Now tell me about the letter.”
Under this coolness Corrie’s violence collapsed. He seated himself, saying: “But can I trust ye to keep a’ I said last night secret?”
“We have got to trust each other, Corrie. Let us forget about last night. . . . Now go ahead.”
By the end of the postmaster’s brief recital Symington’s brows were contracted.
“It’s a puzzler,” he remarked. “I should say that Hayward returned the letter for one of two reasons: either he hadn’t read it through, or else he wants to stand well with you on account of Kitty. What do you think?”