"Perhaps he was acting for—"
"Well?"
"For some one else."
"But for whom? What concern could my letters be of anybody's. What advantage could it be to any one to hinder your getting them?"
She sat up and looked at him for some time without speaking, dreading the question she must ask.
"Can you really think of no one?" she said.
"No."
"Did no one know that you had written?"
"No one but Bertie."
"Ah! Only Bertie," said she, with emphasis.