“To the Western Union,” she called to the groom.  When the carriage drew up before the telegraph office, she gave the letter to the groom.  “I found this on the sidewalk.  Have them return it to the owner by messenger.”  This was done.  “Now, home,” she ordered.

That afternoon she attended a large reception.  Her bland smile was as bland as ever, but her eyes shone with suppressed excitement.  The Benningtons were there, but there was only a frigid nod when she encountered Mrs. Jack and Patty.  She wondered that she nodded at all.  She took her friend, Mrs. Fairchilds, into a corner.  She simply had to tell some one of her discovery, or at least a hint of it.

“Do you recollect what I told you?”

“About—?” Mrs. Fairchilds glanced quickly at Mrs. Jack.

“Yes.  Every word was true, and there will be a great upheaval shortly.  But not a word to a soul.  I never gossip, but in this instance I feel it my duty to warn you.  How and where I learned the truth is immaterial.  I have learned it, and that is sufficient.  It is frightful; it makes my blood boil when I think of it.  And she goes everywhere, as if she had a perfect right.”

“What have you found?” Mrs. Fairchilds could scarcely breathe, so great was her curiosity.

“You will learn soon enough without my telling you.”  And that was all Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene would say.

But it was enough, enough for her purpose.  Within an hour’s time all the old doubt had been stirred into life again, and the meddlers gathered about for the feast.  It is all so simple and easy.

Mrs. Jack moved here and there, serenely beautiful, serenely happy, serenely unconscious of the blow that was soon to strike at the very heart of her life.  Once in a while her brows would draw together abstractedly.  She was thinking of John, and of the heartaches he was having over the action of the men at the shops.

Patty was not gay.  She seemed to be impatient to leave.  Three or four times she asked Mrs. Jack if she were ready to go; she was tired, the people bored her, she wanted to go home.  Finally Mrs. Jack surrendered.

That night at dinner John was very quiet and absent-minded.  The shops, the shops, he was thinking of them continuously.  In his heart of hearts he had no faith in the reporter’s influence.  The strike mania had seized the men, and nothing now could hold them back.  He knew they would doubt his threat to tear down the buildings.  Not till he sent the builder’s wrecking crew would they understand.  Not a hair’s breadth, not the fraction of an inch; if they struck, it would be the end.  He gazed at his wife, the melting lights of love in his handsome eyes.  Hey-dey!  She would always be with him, and together they would go about the great world and forget the injustice and ingratitude of men.  But it was going to be hard.  Strong men must have something to lay their hands to.  He knew that he could not remain idle very long; he must be doing something.  But out of the shops he felt that he would be like a ship without steering apparatus—­lost, aimless, purposeless.