“No; I put it in your letter-box myself—at half-past five.”
Summerhay's mind was trained to quickness, and the full significance of those words came home to him at once. He stared at her fixedly.
“I suppose you saw us, then.”
“Yes.”
He got up, made a helpless movement, and said:
“Oh, Gyp, don't! Don't be so hard! I swear by—”
Gyp gave a little laugh, turned her back, and went on coiling at her hair. And again that horrid feeling that he must knock his head against something rose in Summerhay. He said helplessly:
“I only gave her tea. Why not? She's my cousin. It's nothing! Why should you think the worst of me? She asked to see my chambers. Why not? I couldn't refuse.”
“Your EMPTY chambers? Don't, Bryan—it's pitiful! I can't bear to hear you.”
At that lash of the whip, Summerhay turned and said: