Anne. Yes.
Harold. These? These very letters?
Anne. Yes. I had to.
Harold. Good God! [He gazes at the litter of letters on the desk in stupefied silence.] But the handwriting.
Anne. Oh, that was easy. I had the letter you wrote to Mother.
Harold. And you learned to imitate my handwriting?
Anne [politely]. It was very good writing.
Harold [in sudden apprehension]. No one has seen these things,—have they?
Anne. They arrived by mail.
Harold. You mean people saw the envelopes. Yes, that's bad enough.... But you haven't shown them to any one? [At her silence he turns furiously upon her.] Have you?... Have you?