“A lawyer?” with an hysterical laugh.  “You would scarcely take a thing like that to a lawyer, of all persons.”

“I declare to you that that is exactly what I shall do.  You wrote this letter; I can prove that you wrote it.  Afraid of publicity?  You do not know me.  What I demand to know is, who gave you this information?  That I will know.”

Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw that Patty would do what she promised; so she took her stand boldly.

“Well, then, since you will have it.  Yes, I wrote that letter, for I could no longer stand the humiliation of meeting your sister-in-law in decent houses, and that double hypocrite who pretends to be your brother’s friend and your admirer.  Proof?  I was at my hair-dresser’s one morning, when a woman who is an intimate of McQuade, the politician, came in.  She dropped a letter.  McQuade had written it.  It told definitely the information you have in your hand.”

“You have that letter?” Patty was conscious of a strange numbness stealing over her.

“No, I haven’t.  I read it, and sent it to its owner.  I consider myself very fortunate.  I always had my suspicions, and it was a relief to find that they were not without foundation.  You will now relieve me of your unwelcome presence in this house.”  This time Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene leveled her arm toward the door; the right was with her.

“In a moment,” said a third voice, masculine.

Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene’s arm dropped.  Patty turned with a low cry.  She had forgotten that there might be some one else in the house.

Haldene entered through the door to the dining-room.  His face was hard and his eyes cold.

“I must ask your pardon, both of you, but I could not help overhearing your voices.  They ran somewhat high.”  He bowed to Patty deferentially; he merely glanced at his wife.

“Franklyn!” This phase of the situation was altogether too unexpected and embarrassing for Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene to accept it readily.

“I have heard words about an anonymous letter; I have heard names,—­McQuade, your brother, his wife, Warrington, and my wife.  I should like to know—­”

“Franklyn!” his wife appealed.  To be humiliated before this impudent chit of a girl!

“Patience, my dear.”  Haldene held up his hand.  “Well, Patty?”

“Mrs. Haldene has taken the trouble to meddle with my affairs by writing me an anonymous letter concerning the conduct of my brother’s wife and his friend.  I have traced the letter to Mrs. Haldene, and she has confessed that she wrote it, also stating her reasons and the source of her information.”  Patty spoke bravely, for she hadn’t the least idea whose side Mr. Haldene would take.  She was not aware that, for all his idle habits and failings, he had that quality of justice which, upon occasions, makes a terrible judge of a just man.

“Will you let me see that letter?” he asked.

Patty gave it to him without conditions.  He read it slowly, but neither woman could discover the slightest emotion on the man’s face.  He studied it carefully.  He even compared the false hand with the true.  Then he addressed his wife.