Almost it would have been, she felt, like boasting.
"Perhaps George and I might have let you go on being happy while you
were with us," Rose said, "if a letter hadn't come addressed to you in
Captain Hannaford's handwriting. It was better for you to know
everything before opening it, just in case----" Rose did not finish her
sentence, but, getting up, went to the mantelpiece, where she had placed
the envelope in front of a gilded French clock that looked pitifully
frivolous as a background.
"Would you like us to go out, and let you read your letter alone with
the Prince?" she asked, as she gave the envelope to Mary.
The girl shook her head. "No, I'd rather have you all with me."
For a minute she stood with the sealed envelope in her hand, looking
down at her name in Hannaford's clearly formed, thick, and very black
handwriting. She had received two or three notes from him, and in spite
of their friendship had tossed them indifferently away as soon as read.
But that was before their luncheon together at the Rochers Rouges. Since
then he had not written. Mary wished now that she had kept his letters,
and her heart was heavy with remorse because she had thought very seldom
about him since her need of his sympathy no longer existed. How selfish
and cruel she had been!
The girl made a sudden movement as if to break the seal pressed by
Hannaford's ring, but paused, and taking a hatpin from her hat carefully
cut the envelope across the top. Pulling out the folded sheet of paper
she turned away even from Vanno, making an excuse that she must have
more light.
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