"I have a copy of it here somewhere," went on the Judge. "Would you like to see it?"
He took some papers from a drawer, and, having selected one, passed it to her. Mary Bolitho's face crimsoned as she read. She knew what Paul would feel. There was an insult in every line, almost in every word, veiled by conventional politeness, it is true, but still a note which, to a proud man, would wound like a poisoned knife.
"I had to put a stop to that sort of thing, of course. Just because he has made a little money, and has become a Member of Parliament, he has dared to—— But I say, Mary, this leads me on to something else; and, as we have an hour alone, it is well to have an understanding. How old are you?"
"Nearly twenty-one," she answered.
"I don't want to lose you, of course, but the time must come when I shall have to do so, and—of course, you'll not be surprised to know Ned Wilson was here two or three days ago, and I fancy he considers the matter settled. Do you know that he has spoken to me more than once?"
"But I gave him no encouragement," said the girl. "I have promised him nothing."
"No; but you have not repulsed him."
"You did not wish me to meet his appeal with a blank refusal," said the girl. "You said you had special reasons for that. But I gave him no encouragement. I do not want to marry him."
"But you do not dislike him; in fact, you told me you felt very kindly towards him."
"But not in that way, not in that way!"