As she spoke she got up from her sofa. She felt that she could not receive Beryl sitting, that she must stand to confront what was coming to her with the girl.
The footman went out and almost immediately returned.
“Miss Van Tuyn, my lady.”
“Do forgive me, Adela!” said Miss Van Tuyn, coming in with her usual graceful self-possession and looking, Lady Sellingworth thought in that first moment, quite untroubled. “This is a most unorthodox hour. But I knew you were often alone in the evening, and I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind seeing me for a few minutes.”
She took Lady Sellingworth’s hand and started. For the hand was cold. Then she looked round and saw that the footman had left the room. The big door was shut. They were alone together.
“Of course you know why I’ve come, Adela,” she said. “I’ve had your letter.”
As she spoke she drew it out of the muff she was carrying.
“I was obliged to write it,” said Lady Sellingworth. “It was my duty to write it.”
“Yes?”
“But I don’t want to discuss it.”