Three weeks later I met the Rev. Mr. Armstrong on the street.
"I think it is only right to tell you what people are saying," said he.
"It's my business to know," I replied.
"I mean about your adopted daughter. I have just been told by two reputable parties, one after the other, that she has been dismissed from the hospital for flirting, and that you and Mrs. Gemmell are hushing the matter up as well as you can, but that you don't know at all where she is."
When I reached home my first question was:
"Have you heard from Mary lately, Belle?"
"Not for a week, and I'm quite worried about her. Before that, she wrote to me dutifully every two or three days, telling me all about her work. I've kept on writing to her just the same, making excuses for her to herself, and never doubting her for a minute; but to tell you the truth, Dave, I'm getting dreadfully anxious."
Then I told her what I had heard.
"Don't you believe it, David! I never shall till I hear it from herself. I know now for a certainty that I love that girl! I'll believe her before all the world! I'll stick by her through thick and thin! I'll not insult her by writing to the Hospital! What now matters the little inconveniences of living with her? What have a few clothes and toilet articles, more or less, to do with it? If she has failed, she shall come home, and we'll begin the three years' fight all over again. I'll sit down now and write her the nicest letter I can write."
That sounded very brave, but inwardly I knew that my wife suffered agonies the next few days.