“Did you write this?”

“Yes, I did.  And if you have been listening, as you had the courage to say you had, you already know my reasons for writing it.”  Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was recovering.

“You must apologize,” he said.

“Apologize?  I think not.  On my part there is nothing more to be said.”

“I see that I shall have to apologize for you.  Patty, I am very sorry that this has happened, and I can promise you that it shall end here.  Will you accept my apology?”

After some hesitance, Patty nodded.  She could not very well refuse.  She had always liked Mr. Haldene.  As hitherto remarked, Patty’s was an impulsive heart.  Suddenly she stretched out her hands toward the wife.

“What have I or mine ever done to you that you should seek to injure us so cruelly?  Have we wronged you in thought or deed?  What is it that has made you my enemy?”

“I am not your enemy, Patty,” said the elder woman, melting ever so slightly.  “I have told you that I did not wish to see your life made wretched by marrying a man of Warrington’s loose habits, and that I could not tolerate the woman who is your brother’s wife.”

Patty held out her hand for the letter.  She had no desire to remain any longer.  She wanted nothing but the privilege of being alone, that she might weep the bitter, galling tears that were brimming her eyes. ...  She had no recollection of gaining the street.  It was true, it was true!  She did not even remember how she reached her room; but as her blurred eyes saw the bed, she fell upon it in a stupor that for a long while did not give any outlet to her tears.

In the meantime Haldene faced his wife.

“I am going down town presently,” he said.  “I shall send you up by messenger several cabin-plans.”

“Cabin-plans?” amazed at this odd turn in affairs.

“Yes.  You will spend the winter either in Egypt or Italy, as it pleases you.”

“Europe?  But my social obligations demand my presence here!” she expostulated.

“You will cancel them.  You will go to Europe.  Anonymous letters!” He struck the desk violently.  It was the first touch of this kind he had ever exhibited in her presence, and it terrified her.  “When I married you, people said I married your money.  As God is above us, I loved you.  Yes, I loved you.  But how long was it permitted that this love should live?  Six slender months!  You, you of all women, you write anonymous letters?” He laughed, but it was laughter that had nothing human in it.  “Madam, when I die my deposit box at the bank will be turned over to you.  In it you will find six anonymous letters.  They have lain there sixteen years.  I took the advice of one and followed you.  So I let them believe that I had married you for your money.  I meant to have my revenge after I was dead.  Madam, you will go to Europe.  I shall not be home to lunch, but you may expect me at dinner.  I am curious to learn whether it will be in Egypt and the Holy Land, or Italy, the land of the fig-tree and the vine.  Good morning.”