She held the envelope out for him to see. “It’s from Dan,” she exclaimed; and forthwith she tore it open and eagerly took out the letter. As she read it, Rodney watched her with mingled amusement, vexation and astonishment. The utterly inconceivable thing had happened. Thorndyke had taken odds of a million to one against and it had come off. That was just a piece of pure luck. It reflected no particular credit on Thorndyke’s judgment; but still Rodney rather wished he had been less dogmatic.
When she had quickly read through the letter, Margaret handed it to him without comment. He took it from her and rapidly ran through the contents.
“Dear Maggie [it ran]:
“I have just seen your quaint advertisement and send you a few lines as requested. I don’t know what you mean by ‘modifying your arrangements’ but I can guess. However, that is no concern of mine and whatever your plans may be, I don’t want to stand in your way. So I will give you a plain statement and you can do what you like.
“My present arrangements are quite permanent. You have seen the last of yours truly. I have no intention of ever coming back—and I don’t suppose you particularly want me. It may interest you to know that I have made fresh domestic arrangements—necessarily a little unorthodox, but also quite permanent.
“With regard to financial questions: I am afraid I can’t contribute to your ‘arrangements,’ whatever they may be. You have enough to live on, and I have new responsibilities; but if you can get anything out of Levy you are welcome to it. You will be the first person who ever has. You can also try Penfield and I wish you the best of luck. And that is all I have got to say on the subject. With best wishes,
“Yours sincerely,
“Daniel Purcell.”
Rodney returned the letter with an expression of disgust. “It is a brutal, hoggish letter,” said he; “typical of the writer. Where does he write from?”
“The post-mark is Wivenhoe. It was posted last night at 7:30.”
“That looks as if Varney were right and he were afloat; but it is a queer time of year for yachting on the East Coast. Well, I suppose you are not much afflicted by the tone of that letter?”
“Not at all. The more brutal the better. I shall have no qualms now. But the question is, will the letter do? What do you think?”
“It ought to do well enough—if it isn’t a little too good to be true.”
“I don’t quite understand. You don’t doubt the truth of what he says, do you?”
“Not at all. What I mean is this: Divorce judges are pretty wary customers. They have to be. The law doesn’t allow married people who are tired of one another and would like to try a fresh throw of the dice to make nice little mutual arrangements to get their marriage dissolved. That is called collusion. And then there is a mischievous devil called The King’s Proctor whose function is to ‘prevent us, O Lord, in all our doings’ and to trip up poor wretches who have got a decree and think they have escaped, and to send them back to cat-and-dog matrimony until death do them part.