“Indeed, we shall,” replied Mrs. Horton, unhesitatingly.
“And I shall always be a welcome guest at Ethel’s English home?” Mrs. Osborn went on.
“Always!” replied Mrs. Horton. “Of course you will. Why ask such a question?”
“Oh, I know I shall be, I assure you,” she replied, demurely, “but then I wanted to hear you say so, don’t you know? Now there is only one serious phase in our program—Doctor Redfield.” She still held his letter addressed to Ethel.
“What would you advise, Lucy? You are so clever, and know so much better than I what is best to be done.”
“My dear Mrs. Horton, will you be guided by what I say, entirely?” She was standing near an elegantly carved escritoire as she spoke.
“Entirely, Lucy, I will do as you say,” replied Mrs. Horton. Quick as a flash Mrs. Osborn caught up an ivory paper-knife and tore away the envelope.
“Oh, Lucy!” cried Mrs. Horton, excitedly. “Don’t! don’t—I feel so guilty.”
“My dear, there is no turning back,” replied the cool and calculating Mrs. Osborn. “A title for Ethel is at stake. We must burn every bridge behind us.” Then, glancing at the letter, she read aloud:
“My own dear Ethel:—I lift up my voice for the third time, and call to you. Will you not answer? I am as one in a wilderness of doubt and sorrow. My heart tells me that you have not forgotten your promise—a promise that has stimulated me with sweetest hope all these weary months of waiting. One word, Ethel,—only one word; even if it is to say that you have forgotten me. With my heart’s tenderest love, I am all your own,
“Affectionately,
“Jack.”