"Yes--as you know, she's quite a girl, they've only been married three months; and the letter worried her considerably--so much so, in fact, that as Willows is away on a week's holiday she sent for me to advise her in the matter."
"What advice did you give her?"
"Well, in the first flush of indignation she was all for sending the horrid thing on to you--a pretty sure sign that any accusation against you had missed its mark," said Carey with a smile. "However, her heart failed her at the critical moment and she sent for me instead. She was at school with some young cousins of mine and we are on quite friendly terms; so she confided her perplexity to me at once."
"I see." Anstice was thinking hard. "And I suppose you returned her confidence by giving her yours?"
"Yes." Carey looked at him frankly. "I requested her to keep my confidence as I would keep hers--save to you--and I am sure she will do so. But"--he spoke gravely now--"I am afraid, Anstice, there is someone in the neighbourhood who wishes to work you ill."
"By the way"--Anstice was not listening very closely--"you have not yet told me the nature of the accusation. I presume it was the same in both cases?"
"Practically, yes. It was a statement, made very plainly and directly, that you--you----"
He broke off, his thin cheeks flushing; and Anstice smiled rather dryly.
"Don't let it distress you," he said, with an attempt at jocularity. "Suppose I save you the trouble of repeating the contents of the letters. I daresay the writer stated that I once, in order to get myself out of a tight place in India, wantonly sacrificed the woman who was my companion?"
"Yes," said Carey slowly, "that was the substance of both communications. The idea was, I gather, to prevent the recipients having confidence in you by pointing to you as one who would save himself at the expense of a woman. Of course"--he spoke more fluently now--"no one who knew you would dream of attaching any weight whatever to that sort of cruel and senseless lie; and as I told Mrs. Willows, such a baseless slander is better left to die for want of notice. She quite agreed with me," he added hastily, and Anstice's face cleared.
"Thanks, Carey." He held out his hand, and Carey's transparent, fingers clasped it with a strength which would have been surprising to one who did not know the indomitable spirit which dwelt in the wasted frame. "You are a true friend, and your friendship deserves some return. Unfortunately the only return I can make is to tell you the miserable story which is perverted by the anonymous writer into something less creditable than--I hope--you will judge it to be."