My dear Mr. Wingate,
I am writing to express to you my sincere and heartfelt regret for last night's unfortunate incident. I can do no more nor any less than to confess in plain words that I was drunk. It is a humiliating confession, but it happens to be the truth. Will you accept this apology in the spirit in which it is tendered, and wipe out the whole incident from your memory? I venture to hope and believe that you are sportsman enough to accede to my request.
Yours regretfully.
DREDLINTON.
Wingate was conscious of a feeling of disappointment as he threw the note upon the table. Open warfare was, after all, so much better. An amende so complete left him with no alternative save acquiescence. Even while he was coming to this somewhat unwelcome decision, the telephone bell rang. He took off the receiver and was instantly galvanised into attention. It was Josephine speaking.
"Is that Mr. Wingate?" she asked.
"It is," he admitted. "Good morning—Josephine!"
"Quite right," she answered composedly. "That is how I like to have you call me. I am speaking for my husband. He is here by my side at the present moment."
"The mischief he is!" Wingate said. "Well?"
"My husband has desired me to intercede with you," Josephine continued, "to beg your acceptance of the apology which he has sent you this morning."