"A LOOSE PAPER FLUTTERED TO THE FLOOR."
"It matches this," he said, "the one I want to open."
There were two similar envelopes amongst the pile of correspondence. He selected one, opened it, and, taking out the contents, shook them, stooped to pick up a loose paper that fluttered from them to the floor, and then placed them in the fresh envelope he had brought.
"May I seal this?" he asked. He had brought an official seal with him.
She brought him sealing wax and taper.
"Thanks," he said, when this was finished. "The paper was there, as I thought. I am glad to have retrieved it."
He folded it up, and put it, with the old envelope, into his pocket.
"Good-bye." He was holding out his hand to her quite coolly.
She felt hurt, disappointed. She would have deprecated his gratitude for the service she had rendered him, but the absence of its expression chilled her.