’Mrs. Mutimer, I dare say you don’t know me nor my name, but I write to you because I think it only right as you should know the truth about your husband, and because me and my sister can’t go on any longer as we are.  My sister’s name is Emma Vine.  She was engaged to be married to Richard M. two years before he knew you, and to the last he put her off with make-believe and promises, though it was easy to see what was meant.  And when our sister Jane was on her very death-bed, which she died not a week after he married you, and I know well as it was grief as killed her.  And now we haven’t got enough to eat for Emma and me and my two little children, for I am a widow myself.  But that isn’t all.  Because he found that his friends in Hoxton was crying shame on him, he got it said as Emma had misbehaved herself, which was a cowardly lie, and all to protect himself.  And now Emma is that ill she can’t work; it’s come upon her all at once, and what’s going to happen God knows.  And his own mother cried shame on him, and wouldn’t live no longer in the big house in Highbury.  He offered us money—­I will say so much—­but Emma was too proud, and wouldn’t hear of it.  And then he went giving her a bad name.  What do you think of your husband now, Mrs. Mutimer?  I don’t expect nothing, but it’s only right you should know.  Emma wouldn’t take anything, not if she was dying of starvation, but I’ve got my children to think of.  So that’s all I have to say, and I’m glad I’ve said it.—­Yours truly, KATE CLAY.’

Adela remained standing for a few moments when she had finished the letter, then went slowly to her room.

Alice returned from the garden in a short time.  In passing through the hall she looked again at the two letters which remained.  Neither of them had a sinister appearance; being addressed to the Manor they probably came from personal friends.  She went to the drawing-room and glanced around for Adela, but the room was empty.  Richard would not be home for an hour yet; she took up a novel and tried to pass the time so, but she had a difficulty in fixing her attention.  In the end she once more left the house, and, after a turn or two on the lawn, strolled out of the gate.

She met her brother a hundred yards along the road.  The sight of her astonished him.

‘What’s up now, Princess?’ he exclaimed.  ’House on fire?  Novels run short?’

’Something that I expect you won’t care to hear.  Who do you think’s been writing to Adela?  Someone in London.’

Richard stayed his foot, and looked at his sister with the eyes which suggested disagreeable possibilities.

‘Who do you mean?’ he asked briefly.  ‘Not mother?’

The change in him was very sudden.  He had been merry and smiling.

‘No; worse than that.  She’s got a letter from Kate.’

‘From Kate?  Emma’s sister?’ he asked in a low voice of surprise which would have been dismay had he not governed himself.