He put down the arms she would throw about his neck and held her wrists, squeezing them till she almost screamed with pain. He bent his face down to stare into her hood; even in the darkness she saw a plain fury in his eyes; if there was a doubt about his state of mind, the oath he uttered removed it.
“What do you want with me?” she gasped, struggling to free her hands.
“You sent me a letter on the morning of the ball?” said he, a little relaxing his grasp, yet not altogether releasing her prisoned hands.
“Well, if I did!” said she.
“What was in it?” he asked.
“Was it not delivered Jo you? I did not address it nor did I sign it, but I was assured you got it.”
“That I got it has nothing to do with the matter, woman. What I want to know is what was in it?”
“Surely you read it?” said she.
“I read it a score of times—”
“My dear Sim!”