"You see," she observed suavely, "I’m not a liar, Mr. Slawson. And I’m not the other things you have called me to your shame—not mine. But I bear you no malice, nor Mrs. Slawson either. I’m not that kind of person. I’m a Christian woman, trying to do my duty." "Damn your duty!" exclaimed Sam hoarsely. "The only thing is," Martha interposed, hastening to cover her husband’s unaccustomed profanity. "The only thing is, these bits here, as I look’m over, ain’t from letters I wrote to Peter Gilroy. They’re from letters I wrote to—another man." Still Sam did not flinch. Martha took a deep breath. "Won’t you take a chair, Mrs. Peckett? An’ I’ll sit, too. An’ so will you, Sam. So long’s we got on this subjec’, we better come to a clear understandin’. That’s always the best way. As I said at the start, Sam, I have been writin’ to Gilroy, an’ he’s been writin’ to me." She leaned from her chair to where her sewing-machine stood, pulled open the drawer of its table, and took therefrom a couple of thin envelopes tied about with a strand of black darning-cotton. "P’raps I’d ought to have told you firstoff, Sam, but I didn’t, because I thought your feelin’s might be hurt, an’—what you don’t know won’t worry you. The day after you had the news of Andy’s note comin’ doo, I got a letter from Gilroy. I’ve it right here now. Also mine answerin’ it. That’s to say, a _copy_ of mine answerin’ it. The reason I kep’ ’m is, Gilroy is with Judge Granville, an’—well—when you’re dealin’ with foxy parties, you got to be foxy to match’m. I won’t read you the letters. If you like, _you_ can read’m. They’re here _for_ you. Gilroy said ’twas him held your note for Andy. He’d took it over, an’ he was writin’ me to say that, for the sake o’ the days gone by, he wanted to do me a kindness. He said he’d let you off the note. He said, well he knew what a poor provider you was, an’ we’d prob’ly none too much, if we had anythin’ a tall, an’, as for him, he’d _plenty_, so he’d never miss it, bein’ as he is a bachelder, an’ right-hand-man to Judge Granville, an’ prosperin’ better an’ better every day. "I wrote’m back, post-haste, that I thanked’m kindly, but you’d already sent the money to Andy. Such bein’ the case, I couldn’t o’ course take him at his word to let you off the note, but knowin’ me so well as he’d used to, he’d know that I’d like nothin’ better than take money off’n a friend who meant so kindly by me _as his letter showed he did_. Bein’ that kind of a friend, I said, I knew he’d like to hear you’re doin’ grand—you’re right-hand-man to Mr. Ronald, an’ we’ve all we need an’ more, too, an’ prosperin’ better an’ better every day.