"And I will come to love you? That is your hope?"
"I have asked for nothing. Don't humiliate me."
He bowed, slightly disconcerted.
He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a little portfolio in red leather, which he opened, drawing forth two or three letters.
"I have brought your letters with me. Letters are so easily lost, and other people read them. So, having learned their contents, I return them to you."
She did not take them.
"What!" he cried, "aren't you glad to get them back? But there's nothing women wish so much as to get back the letters they have written."
"Tear them up—you," she murmured.
"It's not nice to tear up letters."
"Tear them, tear them."