There could be no doubt at all. The perfume on the letter and that on
the shopping-bag were identical. Indeed, she would take the bag over
to Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene; she would be very glad to do her that
trifling service. Oh! Patty's rage choked her. During the past three
weeks Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene had called at least a dozen times,
doubtless to observe the effect of her interest in Patty's welfare.
She might have known! Well, this very morning she would ascertain from
Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's lips where she had secured her information.
She would do more than that; she would make her prove every word of
it.
So Patty marched toward the Haldene place, marched, because that verb
suggests something warlike, something belligerent. And there was war
a-plenty in Patty's heart. Each step she took sang out a sharp
"Meddler-gossip! meddler-gossip!" A delivery horse went past, drumming
an irritating "Busybody! busybody! busybody!" What had she or hers
ever done to Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene that she should stoop to so base a
means of attack? An anonymous letter! War raged in Patty's heart; but
there was something warmer and clearer coursing through her
veins--hope!
She went on. Not a particle of her courage deserted her as she mounted
the steps and pushed the bell. When Patty was genuinely roused in
anger she was afraid of little or nothing, animate or inanimate. A
maid answered the bell. As she recognized the caller she swung back
the door and nodded.
"Is Mrs. Haldene at home?" Patty inquired.
"Yes, Miss Patty."
The maid led Patty into the library, where Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was
busily engaged in making up an invitation list.
"Why, Patty, I am glad to see you," she cried, dropping her pen and
rising. But her curiosity rose at the same time. Patty here?
"You left your shopping-bag when you called yesterday," said Patty,
ominously calm. "I have brought it to you."
"It was very careless of me to forget it."
"Yes, it was," Patty assented, her heart beginning to throb violently.
"Thank you. And I have been looking for it high and low."
Patty passed the bag to her enemy. How to begin, how to begin!
"Mrs. Haldene!" Patty's voice was high-pitched and quavering.
"Why, Patty!"
"Why did you write this base letter to me!"--exhibiting the letter
resolutely. "Do not deny that you wrote it. It smells of
heliotrope--your favorite perfume."
"Patty Bennington, are you mad?" cried Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. "What
letter? What do you mean?" She knew very well, but she had not
practised the control of her nerves all these years for nothing. "A
letter? I demand to see it."
But Patty reconsidered and withdrew her hand, concluding that Mrs.
Franklyn-Haldene could destroy the letter as easily as she had written
it; more easily, had Patty but known it.
"I prefer to read it to you." And Patty read, her tones sharp and
penetrating, finely tempered by anger.
"I write such a thing as that? You accuse me of writing an anonymous
letter of that caliber? You are mad, distinctly mad, and if I did what
was right I should ask you to leave this house instantly." Mrs.
Franklyn-Haldene rose to her full height, after the manner of
indignant persons on the stage.
Patty was not overcome in the least. An idea, bold, unconventional,
and not over-scrupulous, shot into her head. With her eyes holding
Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's, she stepped toward the desk; then, in a
flash, she seized one of the sheets of note-paper that lay scattered
about. Mrs. Franklyn Haldene made a desperate effort to intercept
Patty; but Patty was young, slender and agile. She ran quickly to the
nearest window and compared the written sheet with the blank. The
paper and grain were the same, only one showed that the top had been
cut off. There was no shadow of doubt.
"You are a horrible woman," said Patty.
"Leave this house instantly!" Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was now
thoroughly alarmed.
"Not till you have proved the truth of this letter," Patty declared.
"I refuse to submit to such gross insults in my own house!" Mrs.
Franklyn-Haldene's voice rose a key. She swept majestically toward the
door.
Patty stepped bravely in front of her.
"Have you no breeding?" the storm in Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's voice
gathering.
"Who told you that my brother's wife was formerly--"
"Stand aside!"
"I shall not leave this house or your presence till you have
answered," replied the little paladin. "You wrote this letter to me,
trusting it would make me miserable. It has. But I have not done what
you expected,--shown it. Who told you this base lie?"
"I refuse to answer your impudent questions. Will you stand aside?"
"There is a way to force you. I will know, Mrs. Haldene, I will know.
If you refuse, I shall turn these two sheets over to my brother's
lawyers."
"A lawyer?" with an hysterical laugh. "You would scarcely take a thing
like that to a lawyer, of all persons."
"I declare to you that that is exactly what I shall do. You wrote this
letter; I can prove that you wrote it. Afraid of publicity? You do not
know me. What I demand to know is, who gave you this information? That
I will know."
Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw that Patty would do what she promised; so
she took her stand boldly.
"Well, then, since you will have it. Yes, I wrote that letter, for I
could no longer stand the humiliation of meeting your sister-in-law in
decent houses, and that double hypocrite who pretends to be your
brother's friend and your admirer. Proof? I was at my hair-dresser's
one morning, when a woman who is an intimate of McQuade, the
politician, came in. She dropped a letter. McQuade had written it. It
told definitely the information you have in your hand."
"You have that letter?" Patty was conscious of a strange numbness
stealing over her.
"No, I haven't. I read it, and sent it to its owner. I consider myself
very fortunate. I always had my suspicions, and it was a relief to
find that they were not without foundation. You will now relieve me of
your unwelcome presence in this house." This time Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene
leveled her arm toward the door; the right was with her.
"In a moment," said a third voice, masculine.
Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's arm dropped. Patty turned with a low cry. She
had forgotten that there might be some one else in the house.
Haldene entered through the door to the dining-room. His face was
hard and his eyes cold.
"I must ask your pardon, both of you, but I could not help overhearing
your voices. They ran somewhat high." He bowed to Patty deferentially;
he merely glanced at his wife.
"Franklyn!" This phase of the situation was altogether too unexpected
and embarrassing for Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene to accept it readily.
"I have heard words about an anonymous letter; I have heard
names,--McQuade, your brother, his wife, Warrington, and my wife. I
should like to know--"
"Franklyn!" his wife appealed. To be humiliated before this impudent
chit of a girl!
"Patience, my dear." Haldene held up his hand. "Well, Patty?"
"Mrs. Haldene has taken the trouble to meddle with my affairs by
writing me an anonymous letter concerning the conduct of my brother's
wife and his friend. I have traced the letter to Mrs. Haldene, and she
has confessed that she wrote it, also stating her reasons and the
source of her information." Patty spoke bravely, for she hadn't the
least idea whose side Mr. Haldene would take. She was not aware that,
for all his idle habits and failings, he had that quality of justice
which, upon occasions, makes a terrible judge of a just man.
"Will you let me see that letter?" he asked.
Patty gave it to him without conditions. He read it slowly, but
neither woman could discover the slightest emotion on the man's face.
He studied it carefully. He even compared the false hand with the
true. Then he addressed his wife.
"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."
When he was gone, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene realized, for the first time
in sixteen years, that she had married a man. Suddenly her knees gave
from under her, and she sank into her chair, staring at the floor with
unseeing eyes. For sixteen years!
That afternoon Warrington had a visit. His visitors were Jordan, the
reporter, and Osborne. They appeared to be in high spirits.
"We've got him, Dick!" exclaimed Jordan, swinging his hat.
"Got whom?"
"Morrissy--Morrissy and McQuade," said Osborne, in his
whisky-roughened voice. "We've got 'em all right, Dick. Look at this,"
tossing a wrinkled sheet of carbon-paper on Warrington's desk.
Warrington spread it out. It took him but a minute to find out the
richness of his possession.
"Where did you come across this?" he asked eagerly.
"My niece found it in her waste-basket. I've sent her into the country
to visit relatives," said Osborne. "But if you use it, Dick, you'll
have to find the girl another job in some other town."
"You leave that to me. This is worth a thousand to me and a thousand
more to John Bennington. Now, both of you go down to any restaurant in
town and order what you like, and as long as you like, and you have
them call me up if there's any question."
The reporter and the semi-outcast smiled at each other. They saw their
appetites appeased to satiety.
"Does a bottle go with the order, Dick?" asked Jordan.
"Half a dozen!" laughed Warrington.
"I've put you in the City Hall, Dick," said Osborne. "And don't forget
me when you're there."
"Will there be a story for me?" Jordan asked.
"You'll have a page, Ben."
"That's enough. Well, come on, Bill; we'll show the new mayor that we
can order like gentlemen."
"I remember--" But Osborne never completed his reminiscence. Jordan
was already propelling him toward the door.
Once the door had closed upon them, Warrington capered around the room
like a school-boy. The publication of this confederacy between
Morrissy and McQuade would swing the doubting element over to his side
and split the ranks of the labor party.
Patty, Patty Bennington! He must see her. It was impossible to wait
another day. When was it he had seen her last? Patty, dark-eyed,
elfish, winsome, merry! Oh, yes, he must see her at once, this very
afternoon. He could no longer repress the tide of his love, which
surged at the flood-gates of his heart with mighty pressure. Patty!
Patty!
"Patty is not feeling well," said Mrs. Bennington, as she welcomed
Warrington at the door, an hour later. "I will call her. I am sure she
will be glad to see you."
Warrington went into the music-room, placed his hat on the piano, and
idled about impatiently. That morning he had not possessed the
courage; now he was willing to face lions and tigers, anything rather
than permit another day to pass without telling Patty that he loved
her. When she finally appeared she was pale, her eyes were red, but
her head was erect and her lips firm.
"Patty, are you ill?" hastening toward her.
"I have a very bad headache," coldly. "You wished to see me?"
Where were all the tender words he had planned to speak? Patty had
been weeping!
"You have been crying. What has happened?" anxiously.
"It can not interest you," wearily. Men! She would have a horror of
them for the rest of her days.
"Not interest me? Don't you know, haven't you seen by this time, that
you interest me more than any other living being or any angel in
Heaven?"
Patty caught at the portiere to steady herself. She had not expected
declarations of this kind.
"Don't you know," he hurried on, his voice gaining in passion and
tenderness, "don't you know that a pain to you means triple pain to
me? Don't you know that I love you? Patty, what is the trouble? You
are not a woman to weep over headaches."
"Do you wish to know, then?" bitterly. She hated him! How could he
stand there telling her that he loved her? "Read this," presenting the
letter. "I despise you!"
"Despise me? What in God's name is the matter?"
"Read, read!" vehemently.
Once the letter was in his hand, her arms dropped to her sides, tense.
It was best so, to have it over with at once. To crush the thought of
him out of her heart for ever, such a remedy was necessary. She
watched him. His hand fell slowly. It would have been difficult to say
which of the two was the whiter.
"You speak of love to me?"
He stood there, stunned. His silence spoke eloquently to her. He was
guilty. She leaped to this conclusion at once, not realizing that no
man can immediately defend himself when accused so abruptly.
"You speak of love!" Her wrath seemed to scorch her lips. "My poor
brother!"
Warrington straightened. "Do you believe this?" He threw the letter
aside, as if the touch contaminated him, caring not where it fell.
"Is it true?"
"An anonymous letter?" he replied, contemptuously.
"I know who wrote it."
"You know who wrote it? Who?" There was terrible anger in his voice
now.
"I decline to answer."
"So you give me not even the benefit of a doubt! You believe it!"
Patty was less observant than usual. "Will you please go now? I do not
think there is anything more to be said."
"No. I will go." He spoke quietly, but like a man who has received his
death-stroke. "One question more. Did McQuade write that letter?"
"No."
He picked up his hat. "So much for my dreams! Deny it? Deny calumny of
the anonymous order? No! Defend myself against such a lie? No!"
He walked from the room, his head erect. He did not turn to look at
her again. The hall door closed. He was gone.