They are ladies of the court sometimes, and sometimes others, and I--I fancy that they want me to--how shall I say ?--to begin by writing them letters of the same sort." "What sort of letters ?" "Why--love letters," answered Don John, driven to extremity in spite of his resistance.
"Love letters!" cried Dolores, understanding at last.

"Do you mean to say that there are women whom you do not know, who tell you that they love you before you have ever spoken to them?
Do you mean that a lady of the court, whom you have probably never even seen, wrote that note and tied it up with flowers and risked everything to bring it here, just in the hope that you might notice her?
It is horrible! It is vile! It is shameless! It is beneath anything!" "You say she was a lady--you saw her.

I did not.

But that is what she did, whoever she may be." "And there are women like that--here, in the palace! How little I know!" "And the less you learn about the world, the better," answered the young soldier shortly.
"But you have never answered one, have you ?" asked Dolores, with a scorn that showed how sure she was of his reply.
"No." He spoke thoughtfully.

"I once thought of answering one.