in _her_ house.

"You have probably by this time read the narrative which I have
committed to your care. I hardly dare ask how I stand in your
estimation now. Is it possible that I might have seen you and
your good husband if we had not left London so suddenly? As
things are, I must now tell you in writing what I should
infinitely have preferred saying to you with your friendly hand
in mine.

"Your knowledge of the world has no doubt already attributed the
absence of the ladies at our dinner-table to some report
affecting my character. You are quite right. While I was taking
Elfie away from her school, my husband called on one of his
friends who dined with us (Mr. Waring), and insisted on an
explanation. Mr. Waring referred him to the woman who is known to
you by this time as Mr. Van Brandt's lawful wife. In her
intervals of sobriety she possesses some musical talent; Mrs.
Waring had met with her at a concert for a charity, and had been
interested in the story of her wrongs, as she called them. My
name was, of course, mentioned. I was described as a 'cast-off
mistress' of Van Brandt, who had persuaded Mr. Germaine into
disgracing himself by marrying her, and becoming the step-father
of her child. Mrs. Waring thereupon communicated what she had
heard to other ladies who were her friends. The result you saw
for yourselves when you dined at our house.

"I inform you of what has happened without making any comment.
Mr. Germaine's narrative has already told you that I foresaw the
deplorable consequences which might follow our marriage, and that
I over and over again (God knows at what cost of misery to
myself) refused to be his wife. It was only when my poor little
green flag had revealed us to each other that I lost all control
over myself. The old time on the banks of the lake came back to
me; my heart hungered for its darling of happier days; and I said
Yes, when (as you may think) I ought to have still said No. Will
you take poor old Dame Dermody's view of it, and believe that the
kindred spirits, once reunited, could be parted no more? Or will
you take my view, which is simpler still? I do love him so
dearly, and he is so fond of me!

"In the meantime, our departure from England seems to be the
wisest course that we can adopt. As long as this woman lives she
will say again of me what she has said already, whenever she can
find the opportunity. My child might hear the reports about her
mother, and might be injured by them when she gets older. We
propose to take up our abode, for a time at least, in the
neighborhood of Naples. Here, or further away yet, we may hope to
live without annoyance among a people whose social law is the law
of mercy. Whatever may happen, we have always one last
consolation to sustain us--we have love.

"You talked of traveling on the Continent when you dined with us.
If you should wander our way, the English consul at Naples is a
friend of my husband's, and he will have our address. I wonder
whether we shall ever meet again? It does seem hard to charge the
misfortunes of my life on me, as if they were my faults.

"Speaking of my misfortunes, I may say, before I close this
letter, that the man to whom I owe them is never likely to cross
my path again. The Van Brandts of Amsterdam have received certain
information that he is now on his way to New Zealand. They are
determined to prosecute him if he returns. He is little likely to
give them the opportunity.

"The traveling-carriage is at the door: I must say good-by. My
husband sends to you both his kindest regards and best wishes.
His manuscript will be quite safe (when you leave London) if you
send it to his bankers, at the address inclosed. Think of me
sometimes--and think of me kindly. I appeal confidently to _your_
kindness, for I don't forget that you kissed me at parting. Your
grateful friend (if you will let her be your friend),

"MARY GERMAINE."

We are rather impulsive people in the United States, and we
decide on long journeys by sea or land without making the
slightest fuss about it. My wife and I looked at each other when
we had read Mrs. Germaine's letter.

"London is dull," I remarked, and waited to see what came of it.

My wife read my remark the right way directly.

"Suppose we try Naples?" she said.

That is all. Permit us to wish you good-by. We are off to Naples.





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