"I? Why, you said you knew all about it! Don't you know that she wrote it?"
"The forward minx!"
"I thought you said you had forgiven her?"
"I wish I hadn't! The idea of a girl as careful as Fenie Wardlow professes to be——"
"My dear girl, you've been dreadfully misinformed in some way. Fenie didn't write the letter; 'twas her sister."
"Jermyn!" exclaimed Kate, utterly aghast. What was the world coming to? She had heard of married women who pretended to adore their husbands, and who intrigued with other men, but she supposed they were far from the society in which she moved. So it was Trif and her—carelessness, call it, over which Fenie had been so uncomfortable when Kate called, a few hours back! Oh, the wickedness of the world! Whom now was there to trust?
"So," said Kate, slowly and coldly, "it was a married woman, one whom I have respected and loved, who wrote you the letter which——"
"Stop, Kate—at once. There is a dreadful mistake somewhere. Let us be entirely frank with each other, for the good of all concerned. The only letter about which I have had any discomfort is one which Mrs. Highwood wrote to her own husband."
"Her own husband!" echoed Kate, with a blank stare.
"Yes. Let us begin at the beginning, and get your mind out of this dreadful tangle. Do tell me from whom, and how, you got your information about that unspeakably troublesome letter?"