"Yes; and I ought to cut off my right hand, for I, and no other, have brought it all to pass. If I once begin confessing, there will be no end to it. You remember that Austin got the wrong letter sent to him, and it had the effect of choking him off? Well, one afternoon I was cycling down to see if I could get hold of Gavine, when I saw Mrs. Norman flying up the road without a hat on, and looking perfectly distracted.
"'What is the matter?' I said.
"'Oh,' she gasped, 'I want to catch the postman. I have enclosed a letter in a wrong envelope.'
"'I'm afraid you're too late,' I said. 'I passed the postman ages ago.'
"'Oh,' she cried, 'it is so important; I must try to get it back from the post office. Could you—would you help me. You could cycle in a few minutes to the office. A mile would be nothing to you.'
"'All right, I'll go,' I said, and I cycled off. Neither she nor I thought of mentioning the address or the letter, so when I got to the post office I was quite in ignorance. But the postman was very obliging. I caught him up before he got to the post office, and he opened his bag and took out two letters addressed in Mrs. Norman's writing. One was to Austin, the other to Whiteley's, in London.
"For one moment I hesitated, and then I knew that she would not be in such a ferment over a tradesman, and I felt that if Austin got the letter it might possibly show him what a fool he was, and so I deliberately took Whiteley's, and slowly made my way back to the cottage. Now don't be disgusted with me! I thought the end would justify the means. I really almost felt sorry for her when I saw her face. But she couldn't say much, except that I had brought the wrong letter, and that in her agitation she omitted to tell me which one it was.
"Now I see what I have done, and I have brought trouble on the one I love best. But I didn't realise that if it was not Austin, it would be the Major. Of course, since Austin has gone off, the Major has been down there every day, and Gavine has tried her utmost to keep out of their way, but was unfortunate yesterday, as she surprised them in the midst of an embrace. Oh, perhaps I had better not go on. I am paining you."
Jockie's blunt speech was like salt on a raw wound to Sidney's soul. She could not bear hearing of her uncle's infatuation for the widow; though she was conscious of the truth of it. But she said very quietly:
"I should like to hear all you have to tell me."