a wet hen. The open, almost too open, methods of Mr. Farrell made
my own methods appear contemptible. He was urging me to be his
guest and I was playing the spy. But against myself my indignation
did not last. A letter, bearing a special delivery stamp which
arrived later in the afternoon from Mrs. Farrell turned my
indignation against her, and with bitterness. She also had been
spying. Her letter read:

The Pinkerton I employed to report on you states that after losing
you for a week he located you at New Bedford, that you are living
under the name of Fitzgibbon, and that you have made yourself
conspicuous by attentions to a young person employed in a shop.
This is for me a great blow and disappointment, and I want you to
clearly understand Mr. Farrell's offer is made to you as an
unmarried man. I cannot believe your attentions are serious, but
whether they are serious or not, they must cease. The detective
reports the pair of you are now the talk of Fairharbor. You are
making me ridiculous. I do not want a shop-girl for a
daughter-in-law and you will either give up her acquaintance or
give up Harbor Castle!

I am no believer in ultimatums. In attaining one's end they seldom
prove successful. I tore the note into tiny pieces, and defiantly,
with Polly in the seat beside me, drove into the open country. At
first we picked our way through New Bedford, from the sidewalks her
friends waved to her, and my acquaintances smiled. The detective
was right. We had indeed made ourselves the talk of the town, and
I was determined the talk must cease.

We had reached Ruggles Point when the car developed an illness. I