“It is. I told you he called on Claire yesterday when I was there, and met Mr. Colebridge.”
“Yes.”
“Well, he seems to have jumped to conclusions. Listen to this. I’ll read it to you.
“‘Dear Miss Pendleton,
“‘I think I told you about a cottage my mother owned in Cornwall. It’s a very remote, quiet little place, and I’ve found it very useful at different times. I think it will exactly suit my present mood, and I’m going down there by an early train to-morrow. I hope to be able to finish the book there. I don’t seem to have been able to get on with it lately.
“‘I want to thank you again for all your kindness to me, kindness that few people would have shown to a careless individual who got in the way of their car. I shall never forget it. There was a time——’
“Then,” she broke off, “he goes on to say something about having been foolish enough to hope something or other—I’ll skip that. Then:
“‘I think that your days of freedom and happiness are just beginning, and I hope with all my heart that you may find in your marriage all that you have so far missed in life. You will be marrying a man who can give you everything—all the good things that are so obviously yours by right.
“‘Will you say good-by to your brother for me? He has given me his address in Germany, and I mean to write to him there.
“‘This is a stupid, stilted letter, but I feel confident that you will understand the much that it fails to say, and forgive it its shortcomings.
“‘Always yours sincerely,
“‘Andrew Crosby.’
“Dated yesterday,” she added. She put the letter back into its envelope. “He must have left for Cornwall early this morning.”
Noel whistled.
“Mr. Colebridge must have been a bit forthcoming yesterday.”
“Forthcoming isn’t the word for it. He talked about the money he would give his wife, and looked straight at me—oh, isn’t it maddening! I wouldn’t have had this happen for anything!”