Then he read it with a half-consciousness of what Valentine wanted him for.
"She is a noble woman," he thought.

"Her words made me brave before--they will do me good again." He left the folded paper upon the table in his studio; and jealous little Dora, going in search of some work she had left, found it there.
She read it word by word, the color dying slowly out of her face as she did so, and a bitter, deadly jealousy piercing her heart like a two-edged sword.

It confirmed her worst fears, her darkest doubts.
How dared this brilliant, beautiful woman lure Ronald from her?
How dared she rob her of his love?
Ronald looked aghast at his wife's face as she re-entered the sitting room.

He had been playing with the children, and had forgotten for the time both Valentine and her note.

He cried out in alarm as she turned her white, wild face to him in dumb, silent despair.
"What is the matter, Dora ?" he cried.