“One may know things about a man’s character and life without being personally acquainted with him.” “Then it’s hearsay. I am not going to drop Mr. Arabian because of hearsay, more especially when I don’t even know what the hearsay is.” “It is not hearsay.” “It doesn’t come from other people?” “No.” “Then”--a sudden thought struck her--“is it from the newspapers? Has he ever been in some case, some scandal, that’s been in the newspapers?” “Not that I know of. It isn’t that.” “Really this is like the ‘Mysteries of Udolpho,’” said Miss van Tuyn, concealing her anger and her burning curiosity under a pretence of petulance. “And I really can’t take it seriously.” “But you must, Beryl. You must!” Lady Sellingworth came to her quickly and sat down beside her. “I know my conduct must seem very strange.” “It does, indeed!” “And I dare say all sorts of suspicions, ugly suspicions perhaps, have come into your mind. But try to put them away. Try to believe that I am honestly doing my best to be a friend to you, a true friend.” “Forgive me, Adela, for being brutally frank with you. But I don’t think you care very much for me.” “I wrote that letter against my own desire simply because I thought I ought to. I wrote it simply for your sake. I would have given a great deal not to write it. I knew that there was even danger in writing it.” “What danger?” “It was possible that you might disregard my request and show my letter. I felt practically certain you wouldn’t, but you might have done so.” “And if I had?” “If you had--then--but I only tell you this to prove that in this instance I was trying to be a friend to you.” “If I had shown this letter, or if I were to show it to Mr. Arabian he might bring an action for libel on it, I should think.” “I dare say he could do that.” “Well--but if you could justify!” “But I couldn’t!” “You couldn’t! You write me a libel about a friend of mine which you yourself say you couldn’t justify!” “I can’t bear to hear you speak of that man as your friend.” “He is my friend. I like him very much indeed. And I know him, have known him for weeks, while you tell me you don’t know him. I shall venture to set my knowledge, my personal knowledge, against your ignorance, Adela, and to go on with my friendship. But you need not be afraid.” She smiled contemptuously. “I will not show Mr. Arabian this cruel letter which you yourself say you couldn’t justify.” As she spoke she returned the letter to her muff, which was lying on a table beside her. “Well,” she added, “I don’t know that there is anything more I need say. I came here to have it out with you. That is my way, perhaps an American way, of doing things. We don’t care for underhand dealings. We like things fair and square.” She got up.