Might I not know ?' He looked away to the window.
'Of course, if you tell me I am rude,' Beatrice continued, pressing her pen's point upon the table, 'I have no answer.' 'Well, yes,' he replied at length, as if having taken a resolve, 'they are letters of--that I have put apart for a special reason.

And now, shall we forget them ?' His tone was not altogether suave; about his nostrils there was a suspicion of defiance.

He forced himself to meet her gaze steadily; the effort killed a smile.
'We will cease to speak of them,' Beatrice answered, implying a distinction.
A minute later he saw' that she laid down her pen and rose.

He looked up inquiringly.
'I don't feel able to do anything this morning,' she said.
Wilfrid made no reply.

She went to the chair on which her hat and mantle lay.
'You are not going ?' he asked, in a tone of surprise.
'I think so; I can't be of use to you,' she added, impulsively; 'I have not your confidence.' He let her throw the mantle over her shoulders.
'Beatrice, surely this is not the result of such a trifle?
Look!' He pulled open the drawer once more and threw the pocket-hook on to the table.