"Who said I did?" he parried, with instant truculence.
"You're writing to her now."
"How do you know?"
"Never mind how I know. Answer me: you are, aren't you?"
"I refuse to answer such a question. Surely I haven't to tell you of every letter I write. If you've been spying over my shoulder it's your own fault. How would you like me to read all the letters you write?"
"I wouldn't mind in the least, Kenneth, if I thought you didn't trust me."
"Well, I do trust you, you see, and even if I didn't I shouldn't attempt such an unheard—of liberty. And if you can't trust me without censoring my correspondence, I'm afraid you'll have to go on mistrusting me."
"I don't want to censor your correspondence. I only want you to answer me a straight question: is that a letter to Clare that you're writing?"
"It's a most improper question, and I refuse to answer it."
"Very well.... I think it's time for dinner; hadn't you better finish the letter afterwards? Unless of course, it's very important."