"Oh, well, it's six months ago, isn't it?" replied Mary.
"I suppose in that time one gets over most griefs. I must go over some day. Now the third."
He reddened slightly, recognising again the handwriting of Mrs. Wallace. But this time it affected him very little; he was too weak to care, and he felt almost indifferent.
"Shall I open it?" said Mary.
James hesitated.
"No," he said; "tear it up." And then in reply to her astonishment, he added, smiling: "It's all right, I'm not off my head. Tear it up, and don't ask questions, there's a dear!"
"Of course, I'll tear it up if you want me to," said Mary, looking rather perplexed.
"Now, go to the hedge and throw the pieces in the field."
She did so, and sat down again.
"Shall I read to you?"