The opening sentence—“Pines are the trees of myth and legend. They strike their roots deep into the traditions of an older world, but wind and star love their lofty tops. What music when old Æolus draws his bow across the branches of the pines—” She had heard Barney say that one day when they walked under them.
So Barney was John Foster!
Valancy was not excited. She had absorbed all the shocks and sensations that she could compass for one day. This affected her neither one way nor the other. She only thought:
“So this explains it.”
“It” was a small matter that had, somehow, stuck in her mind more persistently than its importance seemed to justify. Soon after Barney had brought her John Foster’s latest book she had been in a Port Lawrence bookshop and heard a customer ask the proprietor for John Foster’s new book. The proprietor had said curtly, “Not out yet. Won’t be out till next week.”
Valancy had opened her lips to say, “Oh, yes, it is out,” but closed them again. After all, it was none of her business. She supposed the proprietor wanted to cover up his negligence in not getting the book in promptly. Now she knew. The book Barney had given her had been one of the author’s complimentary copies, sent in advance.
Well! Valancy pushed the proofs indifferently aside and sat down in the swivel-chair. She took up Barney’s pen—and a vile one it was—pulled a sheet of paper to her and began to write. She could not think of anything to say except bald facts.
“Dear Barney:—
I went to Dr. Trent this morning and found out he had sent me the wrong letter by mistake. There never was anything serious the matter with my heart and I am quite well now.
I did not mean to trick you. Please believe that. I could not bear it if you did not believe that. I am very sorry for the mistake. But surely you can get a divorce if I leave you. Is desertion a ground for divorce in Canada? Of course if there is anything I can do to help or hasten it I will do it gladly, if your lawyer will let me know.
I thank you for all your kindness to me. I shall never forget it. Think as kindly of me as you can, because I did not mean to trap you. Good-bye.
Yours gratefully,
VALANCY.”
It was very cold and stiff, she knew. But to try to say anything else would be dangerous—like tearing away a dam. She didn’t know what torrent of wild incoherences and passionate anguish might pour out. In a postscript she added:
“Your father was here today. He is coming back tomorrow. He told me everything. I think you should go back to him. He is very lonely for you.”