Will you forgive me if I don’t come to-morrow? Jonah wants me to play at Roehampton against the Red Hats, and they’re sure to want me to dine and talk shop. You know.
Yours,
Gill.
That was Captain Festival’s third attempt.
Their reception of their respective bow-strings was anything but cordial.
Staring at the familiar handwriting, Katharine went very white.
“So,” she said quietly. “Well, I’ve only myself to thank. I’ve whipped off the finest husband that ever a woman had—with the most natural result. . . . He’s turning elsewhere. Madrigal, of course.”
She bit her lip savagely.
Suddenly she remembered the letter she had written the night before.
“My God!” she cried, and clapped her hand to her mouth. “He’ll think I meant it, of course. I meant him to, and he will. It’ll drive him into her arms! I’ve cleared his way! He’ll have no compunction now. . . .”