Tuesday, even the later impulses of his generosity had been absurd.
Wednesday, and with it questions from Mrs. Asherill.
Thursday, and a greater access of prudence. Nevertheless, something must be done, he felt, and so he did something. He wrote out the letter in a fair hand, signed it,—"Your well wisher, John Jones," and enclosed a post-office order for £2. 10s.
Saturday came, no advertisement in the 'Daily News,' and more questions from Mrs. Asherill.
Monday, and this paragraph met Mr. Asherill's eyes,—
"Mrs. M. begs to acknowledge the receipt of two pounds ten shillings from J. J., which she has forwarded to the Secretary of the London Hospital."
Mr. Asherill shook all over with indignation. He had seen Mrs. Mortomley on the previous Saturday and was not surprised when he read the foregoing paragraph. He had fervently prayed privately that she might never associate him and the so-signed John Jones together, but he felt indignant nevertheless.
Particularly as it compelled him to practise a deception on the wife of his bosom.
He had to draw out an advertisement himself and take the Thursday's paper containing it home to Kew for Mrs. Asherill's delectation.
"Mrs. M. acknowledges the receipt of £50 from J. J. to whom she begs to tender her most grateful thanks."