"I had read the letter myself just before dinner, and I missed reading the postscript, because it was late, and the dinner-gong sounded. This of the wax match was in the garden, after." It is coming slowly—the inevitable—and he is beginning to know it. Maybe Marianne sees the flush mounting on his face.
"I thought you never saw the back of the last sheet? Why did you want to read the rest again? Had I said anything wrong?"
"No, dear!—you don't understand. Listen...."
"Yes—go on!" Because what has to be listened to seems to hang fire However, it comes in the end.
"It was not I myself that wanted to read the letter again just then...."
"Who had read it before?"
"I didn't mean that, either, dear—do wait!"
"I am waiting ... tell me ... tell me at once!" Surely Marianne's breath came a little short on the last words, and she is leaning on the banister-rail perceptibly. His answer comes in the quick undertone of one who wishes to get something said that he would have been glad to leave unuttered.
"I was asked if I thought you would mind your answer to their invitation being shown, and I could not remember a word in the letter that I thought you could possibly object to my showing...."
"Who do you mean by 'they'?"