“Have you got his letters?” from her mother.
“Yes, in my trunk.”
“There’s nothing to be done until we see them,” said Mrs. Bryce, impatiently.
“They are private letters, and I must say . . .” began Isabelle, hotly.
“You be quiet,” ordered her mother, angrily. “I can’t see that you were much use, Miss Watts.”
“Mrs. Bryce, I had no idea that this was going on. I knew she wrote letters, but I supposed they were to you or to school friends. I did not feel it necessary to censor her mail.”
“You ought to know her well enough by now to know that when she seems to be behaving she is doing her worst.”
Mrs. Bryce summoned a maid and ordered Isabelle’s trunk to be reported the moment it arrived. While they waited Mrs. Bryce interrogated Miss Watts as to whom Isabelle had met in Bermuda. Isabelle was at the window, gazing from behind the curtain at her admirer, but she noticed that Captain O’Leary’s name was merely mentioned in a list of the English officers they had met.
“Look here, Isabelle, how about Edouard?” whispered Wally, at her elbow. “Does he think he is engaged to you, too?”