She put her hand in her bosom—her letter—the letter she wished to dispose of with her own hand—was no longer there! How—where had she dropped it? She turned, looked hastily round her, and saw Mr. Hawkey Sharpe, who had evidently picked it up, descending the staircase, and he handed it to her with a slight and grave bow.
'Oh—thank you,' said Maude, her mind now full of confusion and vexation.
Quick as thought she dropped it into the postal bag after he handed it to her, but not before he had seen the address, and a dangerous gleam shot athwart his shifty eyes, and again the coarse, bold nature of the man came forth.
'So—so,' said he, through his clenched teeth. 'I find I have been mistaken in you, Miss Lindsay.'
'Mistaken, Mr. Sharpe?'
'Yes—mistaken all along.'
'I do not comprehend you.'
'Deceived by your soft, fair face and gentle eyes, I thought you unlike other girls—no coquette—no flirt—and now—now, I find——'
'What, sir?' demanded Maude impetuously.
'That you have correspondents.'