(She again produces the letters, deliberately, one by one, fingering them with aversion. Suddenly, she starts, turning her head towards the door.)

Paula: Ah!

(Aubrey enters quickly)

Aubrey: Paula!

Paula: (Handing him the letters, her face averted) There!

(He examines the letters, puzzled, and looks at her inquiringly. In a hard voice:)

They are many days old. I stole them, I suppose to make you anxious and unhappy.

(He looks at the letters again, then lays them aside on the table)

Aubrey: (Gently) Paula, dear, it doesn’t matter.

Paula: (After a short pause) Why -- why do you take it like this?

Aubrey: What did you expect?

Paula: Oh, but I suppose silent reproaches are really the severest. And then, naturally, you are itching to open your letters.

(She crosses the room as if to go)

Aubrey: