“You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. If you don’t like it, I won’t be mad, I promise. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. ” “You alarm me,” she murmured, smiling. “How dared you do yourself this injustice?” “I did it for her sake,” she answered.
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