He nodded, smiling at her.
“Gone, right enough—and he’ll get his legacy. I can trace him quite easily now we know the name of his boat. That gives us a clear conscience.”
“Does it, Jack?—Does it?—Oh, I wish I could be sure!—Durham is not the man Tremaine was!”
“He’s a happier man than Tremaine would be, anyway! Think of their delight when they get that legacy!” He led her back into the dining-room, where the remains of their anniversary feast were yet upon the table. “And, dear!” he looked into her eyes, “we are happier people than we should have been had Durham not replaced Tremaine!”
She shook her head, still doubtful.
“But if he remembers?” she queried.
“He goes a long way off, into a new environment. The chances are against his remembering at all. If he does,” he shrugged his shoulders, “he will probably himself put it down as a hallucination from which his devoted little wife will nurse him back. Don’t worry, my dear. We did the right thing.”
“If only I could be sure!” she said, with a sigh.
* * * * * *
The next morning Dorothy woke up to see her mother bending over her bed.