‘To-morrow? Oh, that is soon. Nevertheless let her have back her letters, Mr Portland, if only in return for all the kindness _he_ has shown you. You could never use them against her. It would be impossible; and withholding them might urge her on to confide the matter to her husband, which would mean a break-up of your long intimacy with him.’ ‘By Jove! you are an eloquent pleader, Nell!’ exclaimed her companion, looking at her admiringly, ‘and there’s more good in your little finger than in her ladyship’s whole body. You’re doing this for Ilfracombe’s sake, I can spot that fast enough; but if you believe all her protestations about loving him you are easily gulled. She cares for no one but herself; she never did; but she’s in a mortal fright lest I should peach and make ructions between them. Which there would be, I can assure you, when I tell you that if it were in my power, I would not marry the woman who wrote such letters as I have in my possession. By George! you should see them. They would make your eyes open. You would not have written such epistles to save your life.’ ‘Perhaps not,’ she answered quietly. ‘Letter-writing was never much in my line. But if what you say is true, it is all the more necessary that they should be destroyed. Give them to me, Mr Portland, I implore you, for the old time’s sake.’ ‘Do you know what you are asking, Miss Llewellyn? To be allowed to do the best turn in your power (or the power of anyone) to the woman who inveigled Ilfracombe from you; to make a heartless, reckless girl, who is only afraid of imperilling her position in society, at her ease for evermore; to set her free to bamboozle some other man as she bamboozled me.’ ‘Oh, no, no. I do not believe that. She loves her husband. You might hear it in the very tone of her voice.’ ‘_The very tone of her voice!_’ echoed Jack Portland sneeringly. ‘What a judge of character you must be. Why, Nora Ilfracombe is a thorough actress, and can change her voice at will. How Ilfracombe can ever have been so infatuated as to make her his countess beats me. And to see him lolling on the sofa by her side, and devouring her with his eyes is sickening. He’s over head and ears in love with her, and she wants to keep him at her feet. That’s the long and the short of it.’ ‘But you told her just now that it was _I_ whom he loved,’ cried Nell quickly. ‘Did I? That was only to make her ladyship waxey. Ilfracombe has forgotten all about you long ago--’ ‘I--I--think you are mistaken,’ replied Nell in a constrained tone; ‘but you cannot blame the countess for wishing to keep him as much with her as possible. And--and--since it is all over for you and me, Mr Portland--since you have lost _her_, and I have lost _him_--would it not be better and nobler to leave them alone for the future, and put no obstacle in the way of their happiness?’ ‘And what would you do with the packet of letters if I did deliver them over to you?’