“I found, in her escritoire, a letter proposing marriage to her. It was signed 'George Hatfield,' and was written in unmistakable terms of passion and fervor.
“I also found a letter that she had written in reply, but which she had evidently decided not to send, for it was torn into four parts. I put it together and read it through. I never saw such biting scorn embraced in a few words, as she managed to incorporate in that reply.
“The blotter that she had used was also in the writing desk, and by subjecting it to a very powerful magnifying glass I found not only the greater part of the letter I had already perused, but a sentence like this: ' Mr. George Hatfield: The proposal made by you is peremptorily declined with scorn. Sara Varney.' To the point, wasn't it?”
“I should say so.”
“I asked Grayling—”
“Who is he?”
“The man to whom she was engaged, Arthur Grayling. I asked him if he knew Hatfield. He replied that he had heard of him, but had never seen him.
“Then, to be consecutive in my account, I ordered the carriage. When it came to the door I entered it, and was driven to the station. On the way I began to think, of course.
“The first thing that occurred to me was that I would like to know what was contained in the message that called her away from home so suddenly.
“Women are proverbially careless with their letters. It occurred to me that she might have lost that particular one in the carriage.