Not so Mrs. Hannaford, who, just before dinner, had received a
letter, which at once she destroyed. The missive ran thus:
"DEAR MRS. HANNAFORD--I am distressed to hear that you suffer so
in health. Consult your brother; you will find that the only thing
to do you good will be a complete change of climate and of habits.
You know how often I have urged this; if you had listened to me, you
would by now have been both healthy and happy--yes, happy. Is it
too late? Don't you value your life? And don't you care at all for
the happiness of mine? Meet me to-morrow, I beg, at the Museum,
about eleven o'clock, and let us talk it all over once more. Do be
sensible; don't wreck your life out of respect for social
superstitions. The thing once over, who thinks the worse of you? Not
a living creature for whom you need care. You have suffered for
years; put an end to it; the remedy is in your hands. Ever yours,
D.O."
CHAPTER XVI
A few days after her return, Irene left home in the morning to make
an unceremonious call. She was driven to Great Portland Street and
alighted before a shop, which bore the number of the house she
sought. Having found the private entrance--a door that stood wide
open--and after ringing once or twice without drawing anyone's
attention, she began to ascend the uncarpeted stairs. At that moment
there came down a young woman humming an air; a cheery-faced,
solidly-built damsel, dressed with attention to broad effect in
colours which were then--or recently had been--known as
"aesthetic.
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