"Well," she said with a little musical laugh, "there was no reason why I shouldn't. It was my husband's."
Then she rose impulsively, and, drawing up a footstool, sank down beside Eveline Annersly, and slipped an arm about her.
"I think you know," she said. "At least, you have done what you could to bring it about for ever so long. We are friends at last, Charley and I."
"That is pleasant to hear. Still, I'm not sure it would quite satisfy Charley. Haven't you gone any further?"
Carrie's face was hidden as she replied, in a voice that quavered a bit. "I think we are lovers, too," she murmured.
"Well," said her companion, "if he had known all I do, you might have been that some time ago. In fact, it would have pleased me if he had slapped you occasionally. If you had made him believe what you tried, it is very probable that you would never have forgiven yourself. But I think you ought to be more than lovers."
Feeling a tremor of emotion run through the girl, she stooped and kissed her half-hidden cheek. Carrie looked up.
"Charley is my husband—and all that is worth having to me," she said. "He is sure of it at last. I have told him so."
She sat silent for a minute, and then turned a little and took out a letter.
"It's from Jimmy," she said. "It was among Charley's papers, and he gave it to me when we came home."