“Look at these,” pursued Captain Wragge, holding up the envelopes. “If I turn these to the use for which they have been written, Mrs. Lecount’s master will never receive Mrs. Lecount’s letter. If I tear them up, he will know by to-morrow’s post that you are the woman who visited him in Vauxhall Walk. Say the word! Shall I tear the envelopes up, or shall I put them back in my pocket?”
There was a pause of dead silence. The murmur of the summer waves on the shingle of the beach and the voices of the summer idlers on the Parade floated through the open window, and filled the empty stillness of the room.
She raised her head; she lifted her hand and pointed steadily to the envelopes.
“Put them back,” she said.
“Do you mean it?” he asked.
“I mean it.”
As she gave that answer, there was a sound of wheels on the road outside.
“You hear those wheels?” said Captain Wragge.
“I hear them.”
“You see the chaise?” said the captain, pointing through the window as the chaise which had been ordered from the inn made its appearance at the garden gate.