Mrs. Saltram hesitated. "Because she's staying with Mr. and Mrs. Mulville."
"And why should that prevent?"
Again my visitor faltered, and I began to reflect on the grotesque, the unconscious perversity of her action. I was the only person save George Gravener and the Mulvilles who was aware of Sir Gregory Coxon's and of Miss Anvoy's strange bounty. Where could there have been a more signal illustration of the clumsiness of human affairs than her having complacently selected this moment to fly in the face of it? "There's the chance of their seeing her letters. They know Mr. Pudney's hand."
Still I didn't understand; then it flashed upon me. "You mean they might intercept it? How can you imply any thing so base?" I indignantly demanded.
"It's not I; it's Mr. Pudney!" cried Mrs. Saltram, with a flush. "It's his own idea."
"Then why couldn't he send the letter to you to be delivered?"
Mrs. Saltram's embarrassment increased; she gave me another hard look. "You must make that out for yourself."
I made it out quickly enough. "It's a denunciation?"
"A real lady doesn't betray her husband!" this virtuous woman exclaimed.
I burst out laughing, and I fear my laugh may have had an effect of impertinence.
