It was native, naive, brutal, and unconsciously clever--and the girl who had written it was beautiful.

It had only a few lines.

It asked him why he had deserted her, his wife.

It said that he would find American law protected the deluded stranger.

It asked if he had so soon forgotten the kisses he had given her, and did he not realize they were married?
He felt that, with her, beneath all, there was more than malice; there was a passion which would run risks to secure its end.
A few moments later he was in the room where his mother, with her strong, fine, lonely face, sat sewing by the window.