"Well," she said unsteadily, "this is ugly malice; a pity you must notice it." "But you understand that I cannot ignore it," breathed Miss Boyle entreatingly. The other lady turned slowly and faced her. "I do not know quite how much you mean me to understand," she said quietly, "nor why you should not take this paper to your father or Sir Francis." "I cannot take it to them," answered Miss Boyle in a still way, "because what is said there is true." "Oh, my dear!" exclaimed Miss Chressham, touched to the heart. "It is not an invention," continued Selina. "Whoever wrote that knows the truth." She bent forward until her hat concealed her drooping face and she clasped her slim hands tightly on her knees. "He wrote to me, as it says, and I answered, and--and that is the reason why I say no to my cousin." "There is no need to tell me this," answered Susannah, trembling. "Why should you justify yourself to me, or speak to me of these things that are your own matter? I can believe you always right, Selina, without explanations." "But I want you to hear," said Miss Boyle earnestly. "It has come to that point when someone must hear, and you are almost like his sister." Miss Chressham winced and averted her eyes. "It is near two years ago since I first met him," continued Miss Boyle in a low voice, "and from the very first we--he came to The Wells, and there spoke to me--" her words failed her; she pulled out her handkerchief and pressed it to her lips--"of the ruin that involved his fortunes." "Why pain yourself to speak of this?" asked Miss Chressham. "Indeed, I have no right to know--hardly to listen." Selina Boyle made an effort over her weakness. "I entreat you, hear me! I deceived you, Susannah. I wrote to you, mentioning him lightly; I did not dare confide in you, and I was languishing for some word of him. We were then almost--secretly betrothed." She paused, struggling with her troubled breath. "He thought to go to Venice. Then he wrote to me about my lady and Mr. Lyndwood. I saw how hopeless and wrong it was. I--well, it was over." Susannah regarded her with eyes of a startled tenderness. "Some of this I guessed," she said; "but it was not for me to speak." Miss Boyle looked up. "You guessed!" she exclaimed. "What must you have thought of me?" "I thought it was no wonder," she answered. "You are too gentle with me." Miss Boyle raised her hand to an agitated bosom and pressed her heart. "But, indeed, I never wrote to him again nor saw him save in public"--her voice was piteously humble--"until he sent me this letter, which--ah, I should not have answered it! But I could not have married Francis, you must understand. I told him so. I had no right." She turned her head away sharply. "And now it is chalked up for all the world to see!" she said in a muffled voice; "I shall be the talk of London--and, since it is true, what am I to do?" "Rose or Sir Francis will see it, and the matter will be out of our hands, my dear."