“And then?” questioned Lady Anne.
He drew a deep breath. “And then Fate played a trick—a curious, almost incredible trick, Fate threw the woman in his path. Their meeting [Pg 309]was strange, picturesque—I might almost call it unique. At the moment reason did not tell him the woman was the writer of the letters, but his soul, I believe, guessed. And presently he knew without a doubt his soul was right.”
“Ah!” breathed Lady Anne. “He knew the writer of the letters to him, but she did not know who answered them.”
“She did not,” echoed Peter.
There was a little pause.
“Then,” she asked, her eyes still upon her fan, “I suppose he told her what he knew?”
“No,” said Peter in a low voice, “he did not. There is no excuse for him. I myself make none. But—he feared to lose her letters. There’s the whole matter in a nutshell. He did not tell her, and he continued to write.”
“Oh!” said Lady Anne. Again there was a pause.
“Of course,” continued Peter, “it was inexcusable of him. But Fate had his punishment in store.”
“Yes?” she queried.