' I want to tell you first about the letter,' he said, ' and then there is just one word more. Mrs. Emsworth destroyed it, or believed she did, but it fell into the hands of a man, whom I will name if you wish. At least, she regards it as certain it was he. He blackmailed me twice over it, sending me once a copy of the letter, the second time the letter itself. I paid him both times.'
' Who was it?' asked she.
' Harold Bilton. Now, what do you wish me to do?'
' It will mean publicity if you prosecute him?' she asked. ' All those horrors of a court?'
' Yes.'
' I don't think I could bear it about you,' she said. ' Threaten him if you like. Get back your money if you can. But not that, Bertie.'
' It shall be as you wish.'
' Do you want to very much?'
' I see red when I think of him,' said he.
' Ah, don't, don't!' she said.
She was silent a moment.
' One thing more, then,' he said. ' I want to show you the letter. I want you to know all. I have brought it here. Will you read it?'
' Yes, if you wish,' she said.
She took it from him, and went over to the brighter light of the dressing-table to read it by. It was long, and it took her some minutes, and in those minutes she learned for the first time what a man's love could be, and she envied with a sense of passionate longing the woman to whom it was written. That was the fire he had spoken of. When she had finished she gave it back to him.
' I have read it all,' she said. ' Poor Bertie! You suffered.'
She paused, and suddenly her jealousy and her desire flamed high.
