"Wait."
She ran out of the room to her bedroom. Quickly opening a drawer, made a moment's search therein. Then returned with a letter in her hand—triumphant.
"It is not altogether correct form for a woman to show a man another woman's letter, but read that."
Dick sat down at the table and she smoothed the document out before him with a degree of gusto. It was her warrant of justification; the only title-deed she possessed to the behaviour of which she had been guilty.
He read it. His face became worth watching as he did so. Amusement, loathing, astonishment, all held sway on it at odd times. Despite his disgust though, there was big hope in the sediment. As he concluded he whistled his favourite "Rule Britannia."
"Well?"
She had been eagerly watching him. Read the answer in his face, but woman-like asked what she already knew:
"Isn't it true?"
"True!" He tossed the letter back to her as he answered. "From beginning to end it is a tissue of deliberate lies."
She heard rapturously. The moral worth of her friend Amy and the ultimate destination of Amy's soul, were matters for future commiseration. They sank into insignificance before the resuscitation of her faith in Masters. That mighty edifice had been obscured by clouds; the clouds were clearing and the proud summit was peeping through.