e away, it is time for a stranger to
attempt to inform the husband.

"Yours with respect,

"AN ANONYMOUS FRIEND."

For some moments after he had finished reading that letter, Jay Gardiner
sat like one stunned; then slowly he read it again, as though to take in
more clearly its awful meaning.

"Great God!" he cried out; "can this indeed be true?"

If it was, he wondered that he had not noticed it. Then he recollected,
with a start of dismay, that since they had been domiciled at the Ocean
House he had not spent one hour of his time with Sally that could be
spent elsewhere. He had scarcely noticed her; he had not spoken to her
more than half a dozen times. He had not only shut her out from his
heart, but from himself.

He had told himself over and over again that he would have to shun his
wife or he would hate her.

She had seemed satisfied with this so long as she was supplied with
money, horses and carriages, laces and diamonds.

Was there any truth in what this anonymous letter stated--that she had
so far forgotten the proprieties as to ride with this stranger.

He springs from his seat and paces furiously up and down the length of
the room, the veins standing out on his forehead like whip-cords. He
forgets that it is almost morning, forgets that he is tired.

He goes straight to his wife's room. He turns the knob, but he can not
enter for the door is locked. He knocks, but receives no answer, and
turning away, he enters his own apartment again, to wait another hour.
Up and down the floor he walks.

Can what he has read be true? Has the girl whom he has married, against
his will, as it were, made a laughing-stock of him in the eyes of every
man and woman in Newport? _Dared_ she do it?

He goes out into the hall once more, and is just in time to see his
wife's French maid returning from breakfast. He pushes past the girl,
and strides into the inner apartment.

Sally is sitting by the window in a pale-blue silk wrapper wonderfully
trimmed with billows of rare lace, baby blue ribbons and jeweled
buckles, her yellow hair falling down over her shoulders in a rippling
mass of tangled curls.

Jay Gardiner does not stop to admire the pretty picture she makes, but
steps across the floor to where she sits.

"Mrs. Gardiner," he cries, hoarsely, "if you have the time to listen to
me, I should like a few words with you here and now."

Sally's guilty heart leaps up into her throat.

How much has