rubbish had
Mary been communicating?

'My DEAR RHODA,--I have just gone through a very painful scene, and I
feel bound to let you know of it without delay, as it _may_ concern
you. This evening (Monday), when I came home from Great Portland
Street, Emma told me that Mr. Widdowson had called, that he wished to
see me as soon as possible, and would be here again at six o'clock. He
came, and his appearance alarmed me, he was looking so dreadfully ill.
Without preface, he said, "My wife has left me; she has gone to her
sister, and refuses to return." This was astonishing in itself, and I
wondered still more why he should come and tell _me_ about it in so
strange a way. The explanation followed very promptly, and you may
judge how I heard it. Mr. Widdowson said that his wife had been
behaving very badly of late; that he had discovered several falsehoods
she had told him as to her employment during absences from home, in
daytime and evening. Having cause for suspecting the worst, he last
Saturday engaged a private detective to follow Mrs. Widdowson wherever
she went. This man saw her go to the flats in Bayswater where Everard
lives and knock at _his_ door. As no one replied, she went away for a
time and returned, but again found no one at home. This being at once
reported to Mr. Widdowson he asked his wife where she had been that
afternoon. The answer was false; she said she had been here, with me.
Thereupon he lost command of himself, and charged her with infidelity.
She refused to offer any kind of explanation, but denied that she was
guilty and at once left the house. Since, she has utterly refused to
see him. Her sister can only report that Monica is very ill, and that
she charges her husband with accusing her falsely.

'He had come to me, he said, in unspeakable anguish and helplessness,
to ask me whether I had seen anything suspicious in the relations
between Monica and my cousin when they met at this house or elsewhere.
A nice question! Of course I could only reply that it had never even
occurred to me to observe them--that to my knowledge they had met so
rarely--and that I should never have dreamt of suspecting Monica. "Yet
you see she _must_ be guilty," he kept on repeating. I said no, that I
thought her visit _might_ have an innocent significance, though I
couldn't suggest why she had told falsehoods. Then he inquired what I
knew about Everard's present movements. I answered that I had every
reason to think that h