I rallied every atom of self-control I possessed.  “There is nothing to worry about, mother,” I said carelessly.  “Dicky has often spoken recently about this offer to go to San Francisco.  It was always tentative before, but he knew that when it did come he would have to go at a minute’s notice.  You know he always keeps a bag packed at the studio for just such emergencies.”

The last part of my little speech was true.  Dicky did keep a bag packed for the emergency summons he once in a while received from his clients.  But I had never heard of the trip to San Francisco.  But I must reassure my mother-in-law in some way.

“Well, I think it’s mighty queer,” she grumbled, going out of the room.

“You adorable little fibber!” Lillian said tenderly, rising, and coming over to me.  Her voice was gay, but I who knew its every intonation, caught an undertone of worry.

“Lillian!” I exclaimed sharply.  “What is it?  Do you know anything?”

“Hush, child,” she said firmly.  “I know nothing.  You will hear all about it tomorrow morning when you receive Dicky’s letters.  Until then you must be quiet and brave.”

It was like her not to adjure me to keep from worrying.  She never did the usual futile things.  But all through my wakeful night, whenever I turned over or uttered the slightest sound, she was at my side in an instant.

Never until death stops my memory will I forget that next morning with its letters from Dicky.

There was one for my mother-in-law, none for me, but I saw an envelope in Lillian’s hand, which I was sure was from my husband, even before I had seen the shocked pallor which spread over her face as she read it.

“Oh, Lillian, what is it?” I whispered in terror.

“Wait,” she commanded.  “Do not let your mother-in-law guess anything is amiss.”

But when Mother Graham’s demand to know what Dicky had written to me had been appeased by Lillian’s offhand remark that country mails were never reliable, and that my letter would probably arrive later, the elder woman went to her own room to puzzle anew over her son’s letter, which simply said over again what he had told her over the telephone.

When she had gone Lillian locked the door softly behind her, then coming over to me, sank down by my bedside and slipped her arm around me.

“You must be brave, Madge,” she said quietly.  “Read this through and tell me if you have any idea what it means.”

I took the letter she held out to me, and read it through.

“Dear Lil,” the letter began.  “You have never failed me yet, so I know you’ll look after things for me now.

“I am going away.  I shall never see Madge again, nor do I ever expect to hear from her.  Will you look out for her until she is free from me?  She can sue me for desertion, you know, and get her divorce.  I will put in no defence.