My husband was on the steamer with us when we left St. Croix, and—where, do you suppose? In the stateroom with his wife, where a true man should be, of course. I smuggled him in there and kept him hid till we reached Barbados, if you please. But the night you and I stayed at Martinique, I had a terrible fear that he would come ashore and do something silly. He kept insisting that he had an account which he must settle, sooner or later, with you. So, if you remember, I went into your bedroom and stayed all night, for I knew he would trust me, and that he would not try to touch you in my presence. In the morning you took me back to the steamer, as I had intended you should; and that night and the next I slept again in the arms I love. It was he who was prowling around the Hotel des Bains, who played the part of mice and ghosts. Disguised so that no one on the Pretoria recognized him he made his way to land and back again. It wasn't a bad trick, considering.
At Barbados I made him go to the Sea View Hotel instead of the Marine, though with the greatest difficulty. He is so hard to manage when he sets his mind on anything. It was distinctly foolish for him to be seen walking the street with Wesson, for you need never have known he had gone further down the islands than St. Croix. Then why should he come to the Marine in broad daylight, and get into that row, that nearly spilled all the milk? I love the man, I tell you, but I must criticise such conduct.
Where did Wesson get the jewelry? will be the next question in your mind. All I know is that our mutual friend "Edgerly" pawned the lot at Martinique for four hundred francs and afterwards sold the ticket for 125 more, like a dunce! to the proprietor of the Hotel des Bains. That is an indication of where Wesson got hold of the swag. But why did he let you take it from him without making the least resistance? This is another riddle which you must discover for yourself. I can't fathom it.
If you are trying to find anything in my favor because I forgave your insulting language at the time you bade me give up the clothing you had bought, strike it out of your mind. I was merely doing the prudent thing in keeping you quiet until you paid my expenses back to the United States. As to the clothing I knew very well you would never ask for it, in your senses, nor get it, if you did. I finished the work you asked me to do, with the typewriter, to understand exactly how each item in this account seemed to you at the time.
Now, once more, my dear Donald, where does this leave you and me? I might remain in New York without the slightest fear you would molest me, either in person or through the law. No man would like to have this story printed, with his real name, in the daily newspapers; now, would he? Neither is it likely that your fondness for your Marjorie (ha, ha!) will long outlive the confessions she has so freely made. But I am not going to remain in this city. The haunts that have known me will know me no more. I am going far away, with my husband—my darling husband—and I can promise that your eyes have gazed upon both of us for the very last time.
Why, now, did I give up attacking your bank account when such a good opportunity still remained? I will tell you, candidly. There are sportsmen, many of them, I trust, who would not shoot a fawn that stood still at their approach. I never supposed there was a man with whom a woman could travel as I travelled with you, who would not give cause to bleed him with a good conscience by the outrageousness of his conduct. I thought, of course, you would be like the rest. In that case the fountains of mercy would have dried up in my bosom and I would have taken the last dollar I could wrench from you without the slightest compunction. It was a game I believed infallible. I had found it, more than once, to work like a charm.
There are usually only three moves: 1st, to convince the male animal that I am pure and wish to remain so; 2d, to put myself where he believes he can insult me with impunity; 3d, the insult.
I only wanted one move toward the third play on your part to pick you financially to pieces. You did not make it, and I could go no farther.
If this leniency of mine is a deadly sin I can only pray that the temptation to commit another like it will not come to me soon.
And now, my very dear friend, I must say good-by. Take it altogether, my two months with you have not been unhappy ones. On your part, if you have learned your lesson well, the investment you have made ought to yield a fair dividend. Forget me, if you can, forgive me at any rate. I have already given up my lodgings, so you need not seek me there. My address is for the present a secret.