estions and he
questioned citizens of Bayport who had known the former singing teacher
before and after his marriage. Some, like Judah, declared him "slick" or
"smooth." Others, and those the majority, seemed to like him. He was
polite and educated and a "perfect gentleman," this was the sum of
feminine opinion. Captain Sears was inclined to picture him as what he
would have called a "sissy," and not much more dangerous than that. The
judge's hatred, he came to believe, was an obsession, a sick man's
fancy.

He had, of course, read the Phillips letter, that which Judge Knowles
bade him take away and read that night of his death. He hurriedly read
it on that occasion before going to bed; he had reread it several times
since.

It was a well-written letter, there was no doubt of that, a polite
letter, almost excessively so, perhaps. In fact, if Sears had been
obliged to find a fault with it it would have been that it was a little
too polite, a little too polished and flowery. It was not the sort of
letter that he, himself, would have written under stress of grief, but
he realized that it was not the sort of letter he could have written at
all. Taken as a whole it was hard to pick flaws which might not be the
result of prejudice, and taken sentence by sentence it stood the test
almost as well.

"Our life together has been so happy," wrote Phillips, "so ideal, that
the knowledge of its end leaves me stunned, speechless, wordless."

That was exaggeration, of course. He was not wordless, for the letter
contained almost a superfluity of words; but people often said things
they did not mean literally.

"My dear wife and I spoke of you so often, Judge, her affection for you
was so great--an affection which I share, as you know----"

Judge Knowles had not returned the writers affection, quite the
contrary. But it was possible that Phillips did not know this and that
he was fond of the judge. Possible, even if not quite probable.

"She and I never had a difference of opinion, never a thought which was
not shared. This, in my hour of sorrow--" Phillips had written "my
stricken hour" first, and then altered it to "hour of sorrow"--"is my
greatest, almost my only consolation."

Yet, as Judge Knowles had expressly stated, Lobelia herself had told him
that her husband did not know of the endowment at the Fair Harbor and
she had at least hinted that her married life was not all happiness.

But, yet again, the judge was ill and