"'Sir,—I am requested by Mr. Richard Woodroffe to inform you that your father, Mr. John Anthony Woodroffe, has died in debt to a certain Mrs. Welwood, widow of a grocer, of Lisson Grove. The amount is about £60. He wishes to know whether you are prepared to join him in paying off the liability. Your obedient servants.'
"I hope he will like that," said Dick. "And here is the advertisement—
"'Died. On Tuesday, the 13th, at the Marylebone Workhouse Infirmary, John Anthony Woodroffe, father of Sir Humphrey Woodroffe, baronet, aged 55.'
"I hope he will like that."
"There is something more for you," said Molly. "Lady Woodroffe confesses. There is the paper."
"Confesses?" Dick snatched the paper, and read it through with a hunter's sense of disappointment. "Well," he said, "I thought better of her. I thought she would die game. Never trust appearances. Well, this changes these matters. Instead of sending the letters and the advertisement, I shall now go myself with the case and the confession, and bring him to his——"
"No, Dick," said Molly. "There is to be no shame for him, and no humiliation."
"What?"
"No shame for him at all. He is to be left in ignorance unless he has guessed anything. We shall tell him nothing. All will go on as before."
"Oh, Molly! have we given in? With victory assured? Don't say that!"