“Well, first allow me to assure you that you are entirely wrong. It was completely false. Can’t you see now how terrible it was to suggest these absolute lies as facts to her husband? Did you write the letters?”
“Yes, I did; I was in despair. I couldn’t think of anything else to stop it.”
“Thank God you’ve admitted it, Mary. I’m glad of that. At least if we have the truth between us, we know where we are.”
“Did she—did she—tell you?”
“She knows nothing whatever about it,” said Nigel. “She has never been told, and never will be. You need worry no more about the letters. Her husband gave them to me this afternoon, and I destroyed them before him. And he doesn’t know who wrote them.”
Nigel forgot that he had told Percy or did not choose to say.
“They’re completely wiped out, and will be forgotten by the person to whom you sent them. The whole affair is cleared up and finished and regarded as an unfortunate act of folly.”
“Oh, Nigel!” Mary burst into tears. “You’re very good.”
“Now listen, Mary … I can’t endure to stay with you any more at present.”