"That horrible, hateful old Stanley Forde is the most despicable person in the whole world. I was simply furious when I read that article about your fiancé, Tom Gray. I called Stanley on the telephone and accused him of giving the story to the newspapers. Of course I knew in a minute it was he. I remembered all I had said in that letter to you which I sent him by mistake. He actually laughed and said that he did it to pay you for meddling. I told him he would be held responsible for giving the story to that newspaper, but he said that as long as it was true, as he could prove by my letter, that the editor of the newspaper had a perfect right to use it if he wished. He pointed out that it was nothing against Mr. Gray's character and therefore legitimate news.
"Then he had the unspeakable temerity to ask me if he might call on me. You can imagine what I said. Thank goodness and you that I found him out in time. I would be happier with a blind, deaf and dumb man who couldn't walk than to be married to such a person. I am so angry. I have written another letter to dear Mrs. Gray explaining the whole thing. She was so sweet to me when in Oakdale that I felt it my duty to tell her everything. Will you go to her and explain even more fully? You can fill in any gaps which my letter to her may contain. Tell her every single thing about me. I wish her to know it. I am sending her letter by special delivery also. Must hurry and post both letters, so I will close. Write to me soon.
"Faithfully,
"Daffydowndilly Thayer
("To the end of the chapter.")
Grace laid down this energetic communication with a faintly glad sigh. This snarl at least had righted itself. Suppose it were an omen? "The beginning of the end," she had said. It was a little thing, but in some indefinable fashion her heart grew lighter. As Arline's letter had come to her in time of need, perhaps out of the vast unknown would come some sign of or from the lost one.
Her straight brows arched themselves in surprise as she devoted herself to the reading of a letter from Miriam Nesbit.
"Beloved Loyalheart:
"Can you, your father and mother come to New York City at once? Everett and I are to be married on Friday evening at eight o'clock, then take a night train for California. So my well-laid plans for a grand wedding the last of October will have to end in mere announcement cards. But I'll explain. You know I told you of those wonderful open-air performances of Greek plays that have been going on at a spot not far from Ravenwood, the motion picture studio where Everett and Anne filmed Hamlet and Macbeth. To go back to the Greek plays—they will end next week. They have proved so successful that the management wishes to follow them with a series of Shakesperian performances, as they have had requests for them from all sides. To come directly to the point, the stellar honors have been offered Everett, therefore I am about to sacrifice pomp and ceremony on the altar of true love.
"We are to be married in the Little Church Around the Corner where so many professionals have taken their sacred vows. Only my nearest and dearest are to be there. There will be neither a best man nor a bridesmaid and I shall be married in a traveling gown and turn my cherished trousseau into prosaic wardrobe. Even my wedding gown will have to be used afterward, minus the veil, of course, as an evening frock. I have telegraphed David and hope he can come. If he does, he will go back to his search the day after my marriage. Poor Loyalheart, I cannot write you all I feel for you. I'll try to tell you when I see you. Don't disappoint me. I cannot bear to think of going on this new pilgrimage without your being present to wish me godspeed. With my dearest love and sympathy,