“MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. “Who killed her husband?” “Go and nurse him, missus!” “Murderess!” Anna looked from left to right. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. Pearls too! I mean it. Not afraid of me, either.
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