Its script was curious. Every word was written with extreme care, and some were embellished with little flourishes. I remembered how slowly and carefully he had formed the letters in that signature in my office. There were tears in the eyes of Mrs. Mullet when I folded the letter and looked into her face. “What do you think of it?” she asked. “Sounds as if he meant it, but he's an able sounder,” I answered. “He had a good case and has given up all claim upon her,” said Betsey, in the tone of gentle protest. “Oh, well! he wouldn't dare to bring a suit here or in America,” I objected. “She might get the hatchet, but he would get the ax.” “How would you explain his payments on the bust and the portrait?” Betsey asked. Sure enough, why was he buying the bust and the painting, and how had he got the money to do it? “It looks as if he had gone out of his mind,” said Betsey. “Nobody could blame him for going out of his mind,” was my answer. “If I had his mind I'd go out of it.” “Perhaps she has driven him into a new and a better mind,” said Betsey. “That's possible. There's plenty of room outside his old mental horizon. If it's honest love I should think he would die of astonishment to find such goods on himself.” “Well, you see, he was not very well, and I was a kind of mother to him here,” Mrs. Mullet answered, as she wiped her eyes. “He was kind and thoughtful and so very handsome. I was really fond of him.” Mrs. Mullet yielded again to her emotions. She was not a bad sort of a woman, after all. True, she was still afflicted with a light attack of the beauty disease. But she had a heart in her. She was, too, “a well-fashioned, enticing creature,” as Samuel Pepys would have said. I didn't blame Muggs for leaping in love with her. It was as natural as for a boy to leap into a swimming-hole. “What shall I do?” she asked, presently. “Study art as hard as you can,” I said. “Botticelli may help you to forget Muggs. But don't fail to tell me what happens. I've got to know how Muggs gets along with his new affliction.” She agreed to keep me posted, and left us. A note came from Mrs. Fraley that afternoon. She wished to see me on a matter of business, and wouldn't we go and drink tea with them at five? They were spending the day in the Capitoline Museum, where Muriel was at work. We couldn't drink tea with them, and so Betsey proposed that we walk to the museum and see what they wanted. We did it.