come after me," this missive added; "I want to be alone; I shall do no
harm." That sounded pathetic to me, in the light of what I knew, and I
was glad to leave him to his own devices. He proceeded to Venice and I
re-crossed the Alps. For several weeks after this I expected to discover
that he had rejoined Mrs. Pallant; but when we met that November in
Paris I saw he had nothing to hide from me save indeed the secret of
what our extraordinary friend had said to him. This he concealed from me
then and has concealed ever since. He returned to America before
Christmas--when I felt the crisis over. I've never again seen the
wronger of my youth. About a year after our more recent adventure her
daughter Linda married, in London, a young Englishman the heir to a
large fortune, a fortune acquired by his father in some prosaic but
flourishing industry. Mrs. Gimingham's admired photographs--such is
Linda's present name--may be obtained from the principal stationers. I
am convinced her mother was sincere. My nephew has not even yet changed
his state, my sister at last thinks it high time. I put before her as
soon as I next saw her the incidents here recorded, and--such is the
inconsequence of women--nothing can exceed her reprobation of Louisa
Pallant.