When I returned to her again, I had a faint, painful impression as of a buckle slipped, so coldly she returned the packet.
"You have read them?" said I; and I thought my voice sounded not wholly natural, for I was turning in my mind for what could ail her.
"Did you mean me to read all?" she asked.
I told her "Yes," with a drooping voice.
"The last of them as well?" said she.
I knew where we were now; yet I would not lie to her either. "I gave them all without after-thought," I said, "as I supposed that you would read them. I see no harm in any."
"I will be differently made," said she. "I thank God I am differently made. It was not a fit letter to be shown me. It was not fit to be written."
[pg 280] "I think you are speaking of your own friend, Barbara Grant?" said I.
"There will no
