'It was the telegram that began it of course,' she answered.
'Telegram ?' She looked up at him in quite a frightened way--little as there was to be frightened at in a quiet fellow like him in this sad time of his life--and said, 'Yes: some telegram--I think--when you were in trouble?
Forgive my alluding to it; but you asked me the question.' Somerset began reflecting on what messages he had sent Paula, troublous or otherwise.

All he had sent had been sent from the castle, and were as gentle and mellifluous as sentences well could be which had neither articles nor pronouns.

'I don't understand,' he said.

'Will you explain a little more--as plainly as you like--without minding my feelings ?' 'A telegram from Nice, I think ?' 'I never sent one.' 'O! The one I meant was about money.' Somerset shook his head.

'No,' he murmured, with the composure of a man who, knowing he had done nothing of the sort himself, was blinded by his own honesty to the possibility that another might have done it for him.
'That must be some other affair with which I had nothing to do.