"Would they not, my lady!"
The Countess took a turn about the room.
"Bring me a paper, we will compose it," she said slowly. She paused a moment, then added, in a curious tone, "Marius Lyndwood is coming here to-day; I think had I married him we should have been very fond of each other, Honoria—fetch something to write on." She sank wearily into a chair.
"You write," said the Countess, frowning. "And afterwards we shall copy it out and disguise the hand—and what of Miss Boyle's letter?"
"We can never get it back," answered Honoria, balancing the writing-case on her knee. "We had best burn it."
A tap at the door interrupted her; she laid the case over Miss Boyle's letter, and went to answer it; there was a quick exchange of words at the door and she came back.
"Mr. Hilton, my lady."
The Countess lifted her shoulders sullenly.
"What now? let him come in, Honoria. I would it had been another hour."
She did not turn when her father entered nor give him any sign of welcome.