But the truth itself, confidently stated, not as a tragic ending, but as the splendid hopeful beginning of a life of truer happiness for Rose and her husband, needn’t be a shock.  So this was what Rose had borne down on in her letter to Portia.  It wasn’t a very long letter, considering how much it had to tell.

“...  I have found the big thing couldn’t be had without a fight,” she wrote.  “You shouldn’t be surprised, because you’ve probably found out for yourself that nothing worth having comes very easily.  But you’re not to worry about me, nor be afraid for me, because I’m going to win.  I’m making the fight, somehow, for you as well as for myself.  I want you to know that.  I think that realizing I was living your life as well as mine, is what has given me the courage to start....

“I’ve got some plans, but I’m not going to tell you what they are.  But I’ll write to you every week and tell you what I’ve done and I want you to write to Rodney.  I want to be sure that you understand this:  Rodney isn’t to blame for what’s happened.  I don’t feel that I am, either, exactly.  We’re just in a situation that there’s only one real way out of.  I don’t know whether he sees that yet or not.  He’s too terribly hurt and bewildered.  But we haven’t quarreled, and I believe we’re further in love with each other than we’ve ever been before.  I know I am with him....

     “Break this thing to mother as gently as you like, but tell her
     everything before you stop....”

This letter written and despatched, she had worked out the details of her departure with a good deal of care.  In her own house, before her servants, she had tried to act—­and she felt satisfied that her attempt was successful—­just as she would have done had her pretended telegram really come from Portia.  She had packed, looked up trains, made a reservation.  She had called up Frederica and told her the news.  The train she had selected left at an hour and on a day when she knew Frederica wouldn’t be able to come and see her off.  Frederica had come down to the house of course to say good-by to her, and carrying her pretense through that scene, that had for her so much deeper and more poignant a regret than she dared show—­because she really loved Frederica—­was, next to bidding the twins good-by, the hardest thing she had to go through with.  Lying and pretending were always terribly hard for Rose, and a lie to any one she was fond of, almost impossible.  The only thing that enabled her to see it through, was the consideration that she was doing it for Rodney.  He’d probably tell Frederica what had happened in time, but Rose was determined that he should have the privilege of choosing his own time for doing it.

Her bag was packed, her trunk was gone, her motor waiting at the door to take her to the station, when the maid Doris brought the twins home from their airing.  This wasn’t chance, but prearrangement.