"Come in for one moment, I entreat you," she begged, involuntarily clasping her hands. Of course he could not but obey.
They confronted each other, she trembling in every limb, he erect and unbending as she had never before seen him. In his hand he held a small packet.
"There, Countess," he said, "I am convinced that these are all the letters which this Herr von Strachinsky ever received from your mother: some of the epistles with which he edified my amiable aunt and her guests were the productions of his own pen. But you may rest assured that while I live he will not be guilty of any further indiscretion in that direction." There was such a look of determination in his eyes as he spoke that Erika easily guessed by what means he had contrived to intimidate Strachinsky.
She was filled with the warmest gratitude towards him, but there was something so repellent in his air that, instead of any extravagant expression of it, she stood before him without being able to utter a word of thanks. Instead, she fingered in an embarrassed way the packet which he had given her, a very little packet, wrapped in a sheet of paper and sealed with a huge coat of arms. In her confusion she fixed her eyes upon this seal.
"The arms of the Barons von Strachinsky," Goswyn explained. "Pray observe the delicacy with which the very letters read aloud for the entertainment of Heaven only knows how many gossiping old women are sealed up carefully lest I should read them."
Erika smiled faintly. "It is hardly necessary that you should be understood by Strachinsky," she said. "Men always judge from their own point of view. You judged me by yourself, and consequently estimated me more highly than I deserved. Sit down for a moment, I pray you."
"I do not wish to intrude," he said, bluntly, almost discourteously.
"How could you intrude? You never can intrude."
"Not even when you are expecting your betrothed?" He looked her full in the face.
She blushed scarlet; a burning desire to regain his esteem took possession of her.