The letter was tossed on the table to her.  She read these lines, dated from Felixstowe: 

     ’My dear lord,

’The courage I have long been wanting in has come at last, to break a tie that I have seen too clearly was a burden on you from the beginning.  I will believe that I am chiefly responsible for inducing you to contract it.  The alliance with an inexperienced girl of inferior birth, and a perhaps immoderate ambition, has taxed your generosity; and though the store may be inexhaustible, it is not truly the married state when a wife subjects the husband to such a trial.  The release is yours, the sadness is for me.  I have latterly seen or suspected a design on your part to meet my former wishes for a public recognition of the wife of Lord Ormont.  Let me now say that these foolish wishes no longer exist.  I rejoice to think that my staying or going will be alike unknown to the world.  I have the means of a livelihood, in a modest way, and shall trouble no one.

’I have said, the sadness is for me.  That is truth.  But I have to add, that I, too, am sensible of the release.  My confession of a change of feeling to you as a wife, writes the close of all relations between us.  I am among the dead for you; and it is a relief to me to reflect on the little pain I give . . .’

‘Has she something on her conscience about that man Morsfield?’ Lady Charlotte cried.

Lord Ormont’s prolonged Ah! of execration rolled her to a bundle.

Nevertheless her human nature and her knowledge of woman’s, would out with the words:  ‘There’s a man!’

She allowed her brother to be correct in repudiating the name of the dead Morsfield—­chivalrous as he was on this Aminta’s behalf to the last!—­and struck along several heads, Adderwood’s, Weyburn’s, Randeller’s, for the response to her suspicion.  A man there certainly was.  He would be probably a young man.  He would not necessarily be a handsome man. . . . or a titled or a wealthy man.  She might have set eyes on a gypsy somewhere round Great Marlow—­blood to blood; such things have been.  Imagining a wildish man for her, rather than a handsome one and one devoted staidly to the founding of a school, she overlooked Weyburn, or reserved him with others for subsequent speculation.

The remainder of Aminta’s letter referred to her delivery of the Ormont jewel-case at Lord Ormont’s London house, under charge of her maid Carstairs.  The affairs of the household were stated very succinctly, the drawer for labelled keys, whatever pertained to her management, in London or at Great Marlow.

’She ‘s cool,’ Lady Charlotte said, after reading out the orderly array of items, in a tone of rasping irony, to convince her brother he was well rid of a heartless wench.

Aminta’s written statement of those items were stabs at the home she had given him, a flashed picture of his loss.  Nothing written by her touched him to pierce him so shrewdly; nothing could have brought him so closely the breathing image in the flesh of the woman now a phantom for him.