"And--what is the meaning of this letter? What is it written for? What
am I to do with it?" she stammers, beating the precious missive against
the palm of her hand, as though in loathing of it.
"You will show it to her. You will speak of it as a love-letter written
to you by Adrian. You will consult her as to whether it be wise or
prudent to accede to his proposal to meet you alone in the lime-walk.
You will, in fact, put out all your powers of deception, which"--with a
sneering smile--"are great, and so compel her to believe the letter is
from him to you."
"But--" falters Dora.
"There shall be no 'but' in the matter. You have entered into this
affair with me, and you shall pursue it to the end. If you fail me, I
shall betray your share in it--more than your share--and paint you in
such colors as will shut the doors of society to you. You understand
now, do you?"
"Go on," says Dora, with colorless lips.
"Ah, I have touched the right chord at last, have I? Society, your idol,
you dare not brave! Well, to continue, you will also tell her, in your
own sweet innocent way"--with another sneer that makes her quiver with
fear and rage--"to account for Adrian's decided and almost lover-like
attentions to her in the room we visited, that you had had a lovers'
quarrel with him some time before, earlier in the day; that, in his fit
of pique, he had sought to be revenged upon you, and soothe his slighted
feelings by feigning a sudden interest in her.
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