Slowly she put the letter back in its envelope.  She had gone to a great deal of trouble, and even to some little expense, over procuring Piper a really good situation.  She had seen not only his new employer, but also what she liked doing far less, his new employer’s wife; and she had got him extraordinarily good wages, even for these days.  It was too bad that he should worry her, after all she had done for him.  As for his wife—­nothing would induce her to see Mrs. Piper.  Neither did she wish Piper to come down to Beechfield.  She was particularly anxious that the man should not learn of Godfrey Radmore’s return to England.  Unfortunately Radmore was on the lookout for a good manservant.

She took up the other letter.  It was a nice, prosperous-looking, well addressed envelope, very different from the other.  Perhaps this second letter would contain something that would cheer her up.  But alas! when she opened it, she found it was from Mrs. Winter, Piper’s late employer’s wife.

Poor Enid Crofton!  As she stood there reading it, she turned a little sick.  Piper had got drunk the very first day he had been in his new situation.  While drunk he had tried to kiss a virtuous young housemaid.  There had been a regular scene, which had ended in the lady of the house being sent for.  There and then Piper had been turned out neck and crop.

It was not only a justifiably angry letter, it was a very disagreeable letter, the writer saying plainly that Mrs. Crofton had been very much to blame for recommending such a man....

Feeling very much disturbed she turned and came back towards her two visitors.  They were now deep in talk, having evidently found a host of common associations:  “I find I ought to answer one of my letters at once,” she said.  “Will you forgive me for a few moments?”

They both looked up, and smiled at her.  She looked so pretty, so fragile, so young, in her widow’s mourning.

She went through into the dining-room.  There was a writing-table in the window, and there she sat down and put her head in her hands; she felt unutterably forlorn, frightened too—­she hardly knew of what.  It had given her such a horrible shock to learn that Piper was married....

Taking up a pen, she held it for a while poised in the air, staring out of the window at the attractive though rather neglected old garden, in which only this morning she had spent more than an hour with Jack Tosswill.

Then, at last, she dipped her pen in the ink, and after making two rough drafts, she decided on the following form of answer to Mrs. Piper, telling herself that it might be read as addressed to either husband or wife:—­