"Yes."
"You told me that you tore up the letter the moment you read it, and that she must be an awful woman. I distinctly recollect your saying that we could do without her and her beautiful son."
"What a memory you have, John! Or are you making it up?"
"I am not making it up. You did not tear up the letter?"
"No," she said with a beaming smile, "I kept it by me, and I am sure you are mistaken in what you think I said. I did not show it to you because I knew you had some feeling against her and Louis, and I didn't want to annoy you. I am not the woman to make mischief between such near relations. Little differences will arise, and it is our duty to try and smooth them over. That is what I did, and you will be delighted to hear that they are content to let byegones be byegones, and are burning to see you."
"I will think over it."
"I have thought over it for you, dear. They are coming to dinner this evening."
"Do you consider it right, Barbara, to invite them without consulting me?"
"I do, my dear. I am a peacemaker. Our housewarming will be quite a family party."
I submitted, wondering to what length Barbara would go in her duplicity, and whether she or I was mistaken in our recollection of the circumstances in connection with this particular letter. I did not wonder long. I knew that I was right.