The next morning, remembering with alarm the infidelities she had imagined to her poor husband, she hastened to church where she renounced them in trembling, hoping perhaps that the divine Providence had not noticed such a minuscule frailty.
At the end of the month Bofinger, on repairing to Sheila's, stumbled on a messenger who was bringing a telegram to the door. Convinced for a long time that the absence of Fargus held some mystery of which the woman knew the secret he avidly seized on the occasion offered. Slipping a quarter into the palm of the surprised messenger he bade him return five minutes later. Then he went in hurriedly and going at once to the attack said:
"Well, Sheila, what news?"
"About Fargus? Nothing."
"What! Not even a letter?"
"No, indeed."
"But he's telegraphed?" he persisted.
"He'd never think of that," she said with conviction.
"So," he said smiling. "And you're still satisfied there's nothing to fear?"