But on the whole there was a certain exhilaration in the preparation and the going, and her spirits rose as they had not done in months before.  Arrived in the city, she drove at once to the club Jack most frequented.  “He is not in,” the porter said; “indeed, Mr. Delancy has not been here lately.”

“Is Major Fairfax in?” Edith asked.

Major Fairfax was in, and he came out immediately to her carriage.  From him she learned Jack’s address, and drove to his lodging-house.  The Major was more than civil; he was disposed to be sympathetic, but he had the tact to see that Mrs. Delancy did not wish to be questioned, nor to talk.

“Is Mr. Delancy at home?” she asked the small boy who ran the elevator.

“No’me.”

“And he did not say where he was going?”

“No’me.”

“Is he not sometimes at home in the daytime?”

“No’me.”

“And what time does he usually come home in the evening?”

“Don’t know.  After I’ve gone, I guess.”

Edith hesitated whether she should leave a card or a note, but she decided not to do either, and ordered the cabman to take her to Pearl Street, to the house of Fletcher & Co.

Mr. Fletcher, the senior partner, was her cousin, the son of her father’s elder brother, and a man now past sixty years.  Circumstances had carried the families apart socially since the death of her father and his brother, but they were on the most friendly terms, and the ties of blood were not in any way weakened.  Indeed, although Edith had seen Gilbert Fletcher only a few times since her marriage, she felt that she could go to him any time if she were in trouble, with the certainty of sympathy and help.  He had the reputation of the old-fashioned New York merchants, to whom her father belonged, for integrity and conservatism.

It was to him that she went now.  The great shop, or wholesale warehouse rather, into which she entered from the narrow and cart-encumbered street, showed her at once the nature of the business of Fletcher & Co.  It was something in the twine and cordage way.  There were everywhere great coils of ropes and bales of twine, and the dark rooms had a tarry smell.  Mr. Fletcher was in his office, a little space partitioned off in the rear, with half a dozen clerks working by gaslight, and a little sanctum where the senior partner was commonly found at his desk.

Mr. Fletcher was a little, round-headed man, with a shrewd face, vigorous and cheerful, thoroughly a man of business, never speculating, and who had been slowly gaining wealth by careful industry and cautious extension of his trade.  Certain hours of the day—­from ten to three—­he gave to his business.  It was a habit, and it was a habit that he enjoyed.  He had now come back, as he told Edith, from a little holiday at the sea, where his family were, to get into shape for the fall trade.

Edith was closeted with him for a full hour.  When she came out her eyes were brighter and her step more elastic.  At sundown she reached home, almost in high spirits.  And when she snatched up the boy and hugged him, she whispered in his ear, “Baby, we have done it, and we shall see.”