"The letters?" broke in Mrs. Bobby, anxiously.
"Yes, that I told you of, you remember—written to him—they've got experts examining them now."
"Ah, well, if the experts have got hold of the case," said Mrs. Bobby, resignedly, "we might as well give up hope. They'd swear away any person's life to prove a theory."
"Well, at least," said Bobby, "it's the life of a young and beautiful girl. That really seemed to me, when I heard all this, the only hope. Even handwriting experts are human." But his wife only sighed despairingly.
"I think," she said, after awhile, "I must go to Elizabeth. I haven't seen her for several days, and she mustn't think that her friends are giving her up."
"You won't—tell her anything?" asked Bobby, anxiously.
"Do you think she doesn't know?"
"She would be the last person, in the natural order of events, to hear of it."
"Then I shall say nothing," said his wife, after a moment's reflection. "You wouldn't, would you?" she added, as she caught an odd look in her husband's eyes.
"I—I don't know." Bobby seemed to reflect. "If—if she were to go abroad just now," he said, doubtfully, "it might not be a bad plan."