eration. I shall do nothing whatever without your consent, you may be sure. Indeed, it was to ask your advice that I sent for you."
She continued staring at him anxiously, and her lips formed the words, "My husband!"
"Mr. Stellery shall know only what you please to tell him yourself," he answered.
"Then you do know!" Her lips were trembling.
"It was my business to find out."
"Who wrote them, then?" she demanded almost fiercely, as if defying him.
"Mrs. Stellery," he replied, "you are a clever woman. Not only that, but you have a profound knowledge of men. And you have a heart that, in its danger, knows how to ally itself with your brain."
"You mean—"
"That you wrote them yourself!"
For a few minutes no one would have recognized her for the proud serene woman of the world. A strong effort of her will brought her back to something like composure; but now she must talk.
"If you knew what I have suffered!" she exclaimed. "We have been growing away from each other for a year. If it had been only a quarrel, we might have made it up; but this was only his carelessness, his absorption in his business, his thoughtless cruelty. I wanted to arouse him, rekindle his interest in me, make him love me again, if I could. Oh! can't you see? It may not have been right—it was a deceit, I know—but I missed him so!"
"My dear Mrs. Stellery, you needn't justify yourself to me. All I need to say is that I'm sure your ruse has worked."
