"Yes, sir."
"The boy's waiting for an answer, isn't he?"
"No, sir."
He stood a moment in blank uneasiness, until, suddenly aware that she
was waiting, he dismissed her with a curt:
"Oh, very well."
Then he remained by the table, looking at the envelope which he did not
open, hearing the sound of the closing outer door and the passing of the
maid down the hall.
"Why didn't she telephone?" he said aloud slowly.
He looked at the letter again. He had made no mistake. It was from his
wife.
"If she's gone off again on some whim," he said angrily, "by George, I
won't stand for it."
Then carelessly inserting a finger, he broke the cover and glanced
hastily down the letter:
My dear Jackie:
When you have read this I shall have left you forever. Forget me and
try to forgive. In the six years we have lived together, you have
always been kind to me. But, Jack, there is something we cannot give
or take away, and because some one has come who has won that, I am
leaving you. I'm sorry, Jackie, I'm sorry.
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