She had seen the letters often in "Votes for Women."...
Her musings here were stayed by the sound of her husband's steps in
the passage. Hastily she thrust the half sheet of charred paper into
her corsage and brushed off the fragments of the burnt edges from
her laces; then turned and affected to be tidying the writing table
as Michael came in.
_Rossiter_: "Linda! Surely not putting my papers in order--or rather
disorder? I thought you were far too intimate with my likes and
dislikes to do that!... Why, what's the matter?"
_Linda_: "Oh nothing. I was only seeing if they had made up your
fire. I--I--haven't touched anything."
(Rossiter looked anxiously at the grate, but was relieved to see
nothing but burnt, shrivelled squares of paper. He poked the fire
fiercely and at any rate demolished the remains of Vivie's letter.)
_Rossiter_: "Yes: it isn't very cheerful. They must brighten it
while we are at dinner; though as we shall go to the drawing-room
afterwards we shan't need a huge fire here. There! It looks better
after that poke. I threw some papers on it to start a flame just
before I went up to dress.... Why dearie! What cold hands and what
flushed cheeks!"...
_Linda_: "Oh Michael! You'll always love me, won't you? I--I know
I'm not clever, not half clever enough for you. But I _do_ try to
help you all I can. I--I--" (Sobs.
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