"Such doings at home too! I've been two years in debt to my
landlord, and at the end of every quarter I've always prayed like
a modest woman to be allowed to pass by unnoticed. Celebrity has
fallen on me at last, though, and I'm to go at Easter. Madame de
Trop, too, has put the screw on, and everybody else is following
suit. Yesterday, for example, I had the honour of a call from
every one in the world to whom I owed twopence. Remembering how
hard it used to be to get a bill out of these people, I find their
sudden business ardour humorous. They do not deceive me
nevertheless. I see the die is cast, the fact is known. I have
fallen from my high estate of general debtor to everybody and
become merely an honest woman.
"Do I suffer from these slings of fortune? Not an atom. When I was
rich, or seemed to be so, I was often the most miserable woman in
the world, and now I'm happy, happy, happy!
"There is only one thing makes me a little unhappy. Shall I tell
you what it is? Yes, I will tell you because your heart is so
true, and like all brave men you are so tender to all women. It is
a girl friend of mine--a very close and dear friend, and she is in
trouble. A little while ago she was married to a good man, and
they love each other dearer than life, and there ought to be
nothing between them. But there is, and it is a very serious thing
too, although nobody knows about it but herself and me. How shall
I tell you? Dearest, you are to think my head is on your breast
and you cannot see my face while I tell you my poor friend's
secret. Long ago--it seems long--she was the victim of another
man. That is really the only word for it, because she did not
consent. But all the same she feels that she has sinned and that
nothing on earth can wash away the stain. The worst fact is that
her husband knows nothing about it. This fills her with
measureless regret and undying remorse. She feels that she ought
to have told him, and so her heart is full of tears, and she
doesn't know what it is her duty to.
"I thought I would ask you to tell me, dearest. You are kind, but
you mustn't spare her. I didn't. She wanted to draw a veil over
her frailty, but I wouldn't let her. I think she would like to
confess to her husband, to pour out her heart to him, and begin
again with a clean page, but she is afraid. Of course she hasn't
really been faithless, and I could swear on my life she loves her
husband only. And then her sorrow is so great, and she is
beginning to look worn with lying awake at nights, though some
people still think she is beautiful. I dare say you will say,
serve her right for deceiving a good man. So do I sometimes, but I
feel strangely inconsistent about my poor friend, and a woman has
a right to be inconsistent, hasn't she? Tell me what I am to say
to her, and please don't spare her because she is a friend of
mine."