Her husband's face changed sharply. "At least I deserve fair treatment; I'm incapable of sinking to such a depth as that."
"You know I dislike the man."
"That's neither here nor there; the question's more vital. Did you suppose because of what I said to you that night, the night of Rachel's engagement," his voice halted an instant and then went on, "that I had set Craggs to watch you?"
Eva leaned heavily against the door with the little blue note crushed in her hand. "There was nothing else for me to think," she said in a low voice.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Astry, "is that what you think of your husband?"
He turned away and was half-way across the terrace when a new thought arrested him and he came back.
"I spoke of that note just now to warn you. As I said, several have been put with my mail, though plainly addressed to you. I have reason to think that the servants do it purposely. I can assure you that I have no wish to see them."
Eva tried to answer him, to assure him that the letter was of no importance, but she could not; her tongue refused to utter the denial and she remained standing for a while as he had left her, her head resting against the white pilaster and her eyes closed. He had been dignified and almost kind and she felt humbled to the dust before his just anger. She began to be vaguely aware that she had judged him by a standard too mean for a man of his intellect and strength of character; she felt that she had given him the right to despise her and her humiliation strangled her natural impulse to defend herself at his expense. Besides, there was that letter in her pocket. How many of them had he seen? She shuddered at the thought of the blue conspicuousness of that cheap envelope with its over-powering perfume. No one could mistake one of them, and the servants had been watching them, the servants who probably knew the hand-writing. That thought thrust out the other which had clothed Astry in a new aspect.
She made her way into the house and slowly ascended the stairs to her own room. Her heart was heavy as she closed the door and locked it. Then she drew the letter out of her pocket, read it, and tore it up with keen disgust. It was from her former maid, Zélie, and it demanded five hundred dollars. There had been three of these in a month, and to each of them Eva had responded with a cheque. But money only increased the demand for money; it was like casting a piece of paper into a sucking draught of a furnace,—it was consumed in a twinkling.
Ever since Rachel dismissed the French girl, Eva had been in terror of her tongue, and then blackmail actually began. At first it was easy to pay a little, and then a little more; the sense of security was too sweet to be dear at any price. But security could not be purchased; a hundred was a mere drop in the bucket, and Zélie could dictate her terms. She was with Mrs. Billop; Mrs. Billop desired to know everything, but Zélie had been faithful to Eva, how faithful Eva could judge, but she was perishing for money, she was the sole support of aged parents, she must be paid or—she left the rest to Eva's imagination, and Eva knew Mrs. Billop. She longed extremely to be rid of Mrs. Billop and Zélie, but money was no longer plentiful; she had nearly exhausted her own cheque-book and an appeal to Astry was impossible, since their relations were strained to the breaking-point. She had borrowed heavily of Rachel, but now even Rachel asked questions. Of course there was Belhaven, but here some instinct innate in her blood stayed Eva; she was not sordid and she hated to ask Belhaven to pay the price of Zélie's silence. Moreover she felt that Belhaven was slipping away from her; he had honestly kept faith with Rachel, he had tried to let the past go, and, lately, she had even felt in his manner, his detached air, his vagrant glances, that he had ceased altogether to feel her spell, that he was eluding her. He no longer looked only at her, he no longer felt her presence in the room; he had grown distant and deeply thoughtful. Clearly she could not appeal to Belhaven.