"I am certain," said Mrs. Carew, "that my husband said what he believes to be true. Dear friend, what am I to do?"
She seized my hand, and clung to it as though to me, and to me alone, could she look for help in her sad position.
"Does Mildred know anything, suspect anything?" I asked.
What was the meaning of the timid, frightened, helpless look in her eyes at the mention of Mildred's name? No mental efforts of mine could fathom it.
"Nothing," she replied, and then seemed to drift, against her will as it were, into distressful thought. I devoted a few moments to consideration, and when I spoke again had resolved upon a course of action.
"Would you wish me to become your guest for a few days?" I asked.
"Ah, if you would!" she exclaimed.
"I shall be willing if Mr. Carew has no objection. I will see him presently and ascertain. But first I have a little scheme to carry out which I think advisable for all our sakes."
I asked her if I could write a letter in her room, and despatch it at once to my house, and she opened her desk for me. My letter was to my son Reginald, and the effect of it was to secure his absence from Rosemullion during my stay in Mr. Carew's house. There was really a matter of business which Reginald could attend to, and which rendered it necessary for him to take his immediate departure for London. When my letter was written, I explained its purport to Mrs. Carew, and she acquiesced in the wisdom of my plan. She herself added a few words to the letter, to the effect that she regretted not being able to see him before he left, and that Mildred was well and sent her love. She gave me a flower, and asked me to enclose it in the envelope.
"He will think it comes from Mildred," she said, "and it will send him away happy. It is an innocent deceit."