If he had been able to look away from her, he might have foreseen what was coming; and he would have remembered that his triumph over the Captain was still incomplete. But his eyes were riveted on her face; his tenderest memories of her were pleading with him. He answered as a docile child might have answered.
“I do believe you.”
She took a letter from her bosom; and, showing it, begged him to remark that it was not closed.
“I was in my bedroom writing,” she said, “When my mother came to me and told me that you and Captain Bennydeck had met in my sitting-room. She dreaded a quarrel and an exposure, and she urged me to go downstairs and insist on sending you away—or permit her to do so, if I could not prevail on myself to follow her advice. I refused to allow the shameful dismissal of a man who had once had his claim on my respect. The only alternative that I could see was to speak with you here, in private, as we are speaking now. My mother undertook to manage this for me; she saw the servant, and gave him the message which you received. Where is Captain Bennydeck now?”
“He is waiting in the sitting-room.”
“Waiting for you?”
“Yes.”
She considered a little before she said her next words.
“I have brought with me what I was writing in my own room,” she resumed, “wishing to show it to you. Will you read it?”
She offered the letter to him. He hesitated. “Is it addressed to me?” he asked.