Captain Wentworth was more obviously struck and confused, first by the sight of Anne leaving his room, then by the sensation of her body, however briefly, touching his. For her part, the shock caused her to drop the box, and its contents tumbled onto the floor. Anne felt her face colour instantly.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "I did not realise -"
"No, no, I am sorry."
Anne could not speak further; she was overcome with agitation as she collected her things.
Her mortification deepened as Captain Wentworth knelt down to help her. Why must he choose this moment to be gallant to her? He reached over to pick up a folded paper and stopped. He immediately recognised the handwriting - it was his own, one of the few letters he had sent to her during their short engagement. But she had told him she burnt them all…?
He looked around at the other items. More of his letters, dried wildflowers they had collected, a small book of poems he had given to her. He placed the items in the box and fixed his enquiring eyes on Anne, who refused to meet his gaze. She was quite ready to sink under the mortification of the moment.
Finally, it was done. She rose in haste, the haste of embarrassment and of wanting to get away - "I am much obliged, Captain Wentworth," she whispered. With averted eyes, she proceeded down the stairs and was out the door before the servant could open it for her.