He sighed and slowly retreated from the room by way of the window.
Ethel’s attitude made his task a very difficult one....
******
Joan’s task was easier. Joan had free access to her father’s study and typewriter and Joan composed letters from Ethel to Mr. March. William “borrowed” some of his father’s notepaper for her and she worked very conscientiously, looking up the spelling of every word in the dictionary and re-typing every letter in which she made a mistake. She sent him one every day. Each one ended, “Please do not answer this or mention it to me and do not mind if my manner to you seems different to these letters. I cannot explain, but you know that my heart is full of love for you.”
One letter had a p.s. “I would be grateful if you would give half-a-crown to my little brother William when next you meet him. I am penniless and he is such a nice good boy.”
Anyone less conceited than Mr. March would have suspected the genuineness of the letters, but to Mr. March they seemed just such letters as a young girl who had succumbed to his incomparable charm might write.
It was William who insisted on the p.s. though Joan felt that it was inartistic. It had effect, however. Mr. March met William on the road the next morning and handed him a half-crown then, with a loud guffaw and “Divorce or bigamy, eh?” pushed William lightly into a holly bush and passed on. Mr. March’s methods of endearing himself to the young were primitive.... But the half-crown compensated for the holly bush in William’s estimation. He wanted to make the p.s. a regular appendage to the letter but Joan firmly refused to allow it.
After a week of daily letters written by Joan and daily unsuccessful attempts on the part of William to introduce imaginary compliments from Mr. March into casual conversation with Ethel, both felt that it was time for the dénouement.
The final letter was the result of a hard morning’s work by William and Joan.
“Dear George (May I call you George now?),