it so unpleasant for
a man who thinks he is penniless to be told that he has made the year's
income of a cabinet minister?"

"I don't understand," he returned helplessly.

"You talk as though you had never read my letter.

"I never have read your letter," he replied in bewilderment.

Her face had the flush of honest anger. "You do not dare to tell me
you destroyed my letter without reading it--that you destroyed all
that letter contained simply because you no longer cared for your wife;
because you wanted to be rid of her, wanted to vanish and never see her
any more, and so go and leave no trace of yourself! You have the courage
here to my face"--the comedy of the situation gained much from the
mock indignation--she no longer had any compunctions--"to say that you
destroyed my letter and what it contained--a small fortune it would be
out here."

"I did not destroy your letter, Mona," was the embarrassed response.

"Then what did you do with it? Gave it to some one else to read--to some
other woman, perhaps."

He was really shocked and greatly pained. "Hush! You shall not say that
kind of thing, Mona. I've never had anything to do with any woman but my
wife since I married her."

"Then what did you do with the letter?"

"It's there," he said, pointing to the high desk with the green baize
top.

"And you say you have never read it?"

"Never."

She raised her head with dainty haughtiness. "Then if you have still the
same sense of honour that made you keep faith with the bookmakers--you
didn't run away from them!--read it now, here in my presence. Read it,
Shiel. I demand that you read it now. It is my right. You are in honour
bound--"

It was the only way. She dare not give him time to question, to suspect;
she must sweep him along to conviction. She was by no means sure that
there wasn't a flaw in the scheme somewhere, something that would betray
her; and she could hardly wait till it was over, till he had read the
letter.

In a moment he was again near her with the letter in his hand.

"Yes, that's it--that's the letter," she said, with wondering and
reproachful eyes. "I remember the little scratchy blot from the pen on
the envelope. There it is, just as I made it five years ago. But how
disgracefully soiled the envelope is! I suppose it has been tossed about
in your saddle-bag, or with your old clothes, and only kept to remind
you day by day that you had a wife you couldn't live with--kept as a
warn