She held up her face to him with a glad laugh. He kissed her again, and then hurried away, not daring to look back a second time.
She had scarcely returned to the drawing-room, when, she knew not why, a feeling of great depression came into her heart. Her sky, which a few seconds before was clear, now hung with great black clouds. Shadowy forebodings came into her mind and heart. She heard her father talking with Mr. Sackville in the smoking-room. They were chatting and laughing pleasantly, and yet the sound of their voices made her almost angry.
A servant entered the room.
"Yes, Masters, what is it?"
"A letter has just come for you, miss."
"By the last post?"
"No, miss, it was brought by hand, only a few minutes ago. I did not like to bring it, till Mr. Leicester had gone, miss."
She took the letter without a word, and went up into her bedroom. Her maid came to her, but she told her she did not need her any more that night; she wanted to be alone. Still holding the letter unopened in her hand, she drew a chair before the fire, and sat back in it, and closed her eyes. Why this strange feeling of depression? Why was she so sick at heart? Radford's kisses were still warm upon her lips, his words still rang in her ears.
Almost mechanically she broke the seal of the letter which had been brought, and glanced carelessly at it. A minute later her eyes became riveted to the paper. As she read, one expression followed another on her face—wonder, indignation, shame, passion, in turn possessed her.
She read the letter a second time, then a third, then a fourth. Her features became set, her eyes became hard, her hands clenched and unclenched themselves as though she had no control over them. She threw the letter from her; but immediately she caught it up again, and then read it for the fifth time. It was a long letter, plainly and legibly written, evidently by an educated person.