She produced a letter from her reticule and flipped it at him.  Even before he opened it he recognized the familiar handwriting, the profuse capitals, of Mrs. Reynolds.  Fortunately, he made no comment, for the contents were utterly different from his quick anticipation.  It contained a minute and circumstantial account of his visits during the past year to Mrs. Croix, with many other details, which, by spying and bribing, no doubt, she had managed to gather.  Failing one revenge, the woman had resorted to another, and fearing that it might be lost among the abundant and surfeiting lies of the public press, she had aimed at what he held most dear.  The letter was so minute and circumstantial that it would have convinced almost any woman.

There was but one thing for Hamilton to do, and he lied with his unsurpassable eloquence.  When he paused tentatively, his wife remarked:—­

“Alexander, you are a very great man, but you are a wretchedly poor liar.  As Mr. Washington would say, your sincerity is one of the most valuable of your gifts, and without it you could not convince a child.  As if this were not enough, only yesterday, on the boat, I overheard two of your intimate friends discussing this intrigue as a matter of course.  There was not a word of censure or criticism; they were merely wondering when you would add to your enemies; for as this woman was desperately in love with you, she was bound to hate you as violently when you tired of her.  I think men are horrors!” she burst out passionately.  “When, unable to bear this terrible affliction any longer, and unwilling to worry my poor mother, I took that letter and my grief to my father—­what do you suppose he said?  After he had tried to convince me that the story was a base fabrication, and that an anonymous communication should be destroyed unread—­as if any woman living would not read an anonymous letter!—­he said, crossly, that women did not understand men and never made allowances for them; and he went on to make as many excuses for you as if he were defending himself; and then wound up by saying that he did not believe a word of it, and that the letter was written by someone you had flouted.  But it seemed to me in those awful days that I was awake for the first time, that for the first time I understood you—­and your horrid sex, in general—­I do!  I do!”

She looked so adorable with her flashing eyes, the hot colour in her cheek, and the new personality she exhibited, that Hamilton would have foregone a triumph over his enemies to kiss her.  But he dared not make a false move, and he was terribly perplexed.