“Well, the lawyer said there was no time to lose; so I have brought you the anonymous letter.”
“Oh, thank you, madam, thank you.”
“But I'm afraid it will be of no use unless you can prove Mr. Bassett wrote it. It is in a disguised hand.”
“But you found him out by means of another letter.”
“Yes; but I can't give you that other letter to have it read in a court of law, because—Do you see that gentleman there?”
“Yes.”
“That is Marsh.”
“Oh, is it?”
“He is a fool; but I am going to marry him. I have been very ill since I saw you, and poor Marsh nursed me. Talk of women nurses! If ever you are ill in earnest, as I was, write to me, and I'll send you Marsh. Oh, I have no words to tell you his patience, his forbearance, his watchfulness, his tenderness to a sick woman. It is no use—I must marry him; and I could have no letter published that would give him pain.”
“Of course not. Oh, madam, do you think I am capable of doing anything that would give you pain, or dear Mr. Marsh either?”