We were both with him, when Madame Fontaine came in.
"Well," he asked, "have you brought it with you ?" She handed to him a sealed envelope, and then turned to explain herself to me.
"The letter that you put on Mr.Keller's desk," she said pleasantly.
"This time, David, I act as my own postman--at Mr.Keller's request." In her place, I should certainly have torn it up.

To keep it, on the bare chance of its proving to be of some use in the future, seemed to imply either an excessive hopefulness or an extraordinary foresight, on the widow's part.

Without in the least comprehending my own state of mind, I felt that she had, in some mysterious way, disappointed me by keeping that letter.

As a matter of course, I turned to leave the room, and Mr.
Engelman (from a similar motive of delicacy) followed me to the door.

Mr.
Keller called us both back.
"Wait, if you please," he said, "until I have read it." Madame Fontaine was looking out of the window.