“This is for you, Rose!” she cried. “It was left by a stranger, who said no answer was required, and went away immediately.”
“For me!” exclaimed Rose, turning pale. “It is certainly addressed to me, but I don't know the handwriting.”
She then opened the letter, and, after angrily scanning it, read it aloud.
“The gentleman who had the great pleasure of meeting Miss Rose Hartley on the steam-boat this morning, hopes soon to behold her again, as her charms have made an ineffaceable impression upon him. He feels certain that the incident that occurred on the pier must have been as vexatious to her as to him; but she may rest assured that the ruffian who committed the assault shall not pass unpunished.”
“So, then, he has discovered your address!” cried Walter. “I wonder how he learnt it, since he ran off.”
“I could not have credited such audacity, without proof positive!” exclaimed Rose, indignantly. “Does Mr. Romney imagine I will ever exchange another word with him, except to express my anger and scorn? Have I given him any encouragement, that he should dare to write me such a letter?” she added, tears of vexation starting to her eyes.
“No, no! I am sure not,” cried Walter. “But it is part of Romney's system; he believes no woman can resist him. I now begin to think he will persist in the attempt, notwithstanding the chastisement he has received, and the utter want of encouragement on your part.”
“Dear me! I declare I'm all of a tremble!” cried Mrs. Hartley. “I don't know what we shall do to get rid of him.”
“Never mind him,” cried Rose. “I'm not at all afraid.”
“Leave me to deal with him,” said Walter. “Tomorrow I'll look after him.”