As he had never destroyed the letters, they must exist; but, in the name of mischief, where?
He seemed to remember thrusting his own letters to Chloe into a desk of his schoolboy days which used to stand in his London sitting-room.

Very likely some of hers might be there too.

But the thought of his own had by now become a much greater anxiety to him than the wish to placate Chloe.

For he was most uncomfortably aware that his correspondence with Chloe during their short engagement had been of a very different degree of fervour from that shown in the letters to Daphne under similar circumstances.

As for the indelicacy and folly of leaving such documents to chance, he cursed it sorely.
How to look?
He pondered it.