"Gerald, it seemed to me that I must have some certainty, and I did a thing which you will probably condemn. I looked at a letter from him to her, which was accidentally left accessible. I made a copy of it to show you. This is it, word for word. There was no more."
He grew scarlet. The pretty woman was approaching him with the bit of paper. Was it taking an unfair advantage of Virgie to steal a march upon her loyalty thus? He told himself that the end justified the means. He was too deep in love now. He could not draw back. He took the paper and read:
Omberleigh. Tuesday.
Yours of 5th duly recd. Glad journey satisfactorily accomplished. Rooms seem reasonable. Suppose Mrs. M. will go back to Wayhurst in a few days, leaving child in charge of nurse. Trust you have done as I ordered you with regard to m.c. This is important.—O. G."
"That is all—absolutely all—that was written on the sheet of paper," murmured Mrs. Mynors, watching him read.
"What is m.c., do you know?"
"Have no idea. A nice letter for a man to write to his few weeks' bride, is it not?"
"It shows them to be on very peculiar terms," he admitted, with knit brows. "Yes, you must be right. The man is a bit cracked. Was there no beginning to the letter?"
"Nothing."
"Yet you think there is no chance of our being able to get him certified as of unsound mind?"