lightly along the little pier, on her way to the house. _That_
influence effected what no other influence could have achieved.
The outraged wife controlled herself, for the sake of her child.
Mrs. Presty led her out to meet Kitty in the garden; waited until
she saw them together; and returned to the breakfast-room.

Herbert Linley's letter lay on the floor; his discreet
mother-in-law picked it up. It could do no more harm now, and
there might be reasons for keeping the husband's proposal.
"Unless I am very much mistaken," Mrs. Presty concluded, "we
shall hear more from the lawyer before long." She locked up the
letter, and wondered what her daughter would do next.

In half an hour Mrs. Linley returned--pale, silent,
self-contained.

She seated herself at her desk; wrote literally one line; signed
it without an instant's hesitation, and folded the paper. Before
it was secured in the envelope, Mrs. Presty interfered with a
characteristic request. "You are writing to Mr. Linley, of
course," she said. "May I see it?"

Mrs. Linley handed the letter to her. The one line of writing
contained these words: "I refuse positively to part with my
child.--Catherine Linley."

"Have you considered what is likely to happen, when he gets
this?" Mrs. Presty inquired.

"No, mamma."