Yes, she must strike, but how?  Elizabeth had feelings like other people.  She did not mind ruining her sister and rival, but she would very much prefer it should not be known that hers was the hand to cut her down.  Of course, if the worst came to the worst, she must do it.  Meanwhile, might not a substitute be found—­somebody in whom the act would seem not one of vengeance, but of virtue?  Ah! she had it:  Lady Honoria!  Who could be better for such a purpose than the cruelly injured wife?  But then how should she communicate the facts to her ladyship without involving herself?  Again she hit upon a device much favoured by such people—­“un vieux truc mais toujours bon”—­the pristine one of an anonymous letter, which has the startling merit of not committing anybody to anything.  An anonymous letter, to all appearance written by a servant:  it was the very thing!  Most likely it would result in a searching inquiry by Lady Honoria, in which event Elizabeth, of course against her will, would be forced to say what she knew; almost certainly it would result in a quarrel between husband and wife, which might induce the former to show his hand, or even to take some open step as regards Beatrice.  She was sorry for Geoffrey, against whom she had no ill feeling, but it could not be helped; he must be sacrificed.

That very evening she wrote her letter and sent it to be posted by an old servant living in London.  It was a master-piece in its way, especially phonetically.  This precious epistle, which was most exceedingly ill writ in a large coarse hand, ran thus: 

“My Ladi,—­My consence druvs me to it, much again my will.  I’ve tried hard, my ladi, not to speek, first acorse of miss B. as i heve knowed good and peur and also for the sakes of your evil usband that wulf in scheeps cloathin.  But when i think on you my ladi a lorful legel wife gud and virtus and peur and of the things as i hev seen which is enuf to bring a blush to the face of a stater, I knows it is my holy dooty to rite your ladishipp as follers.  Your ladishipp forgif me but on the nite of whittsundey last Miss B. Grainger wint after midnite inter the room of your bad usband—­as I was to mi sham ther to se.  Afterward more nor an hour, she cum out ain being carred in his harmes.  And if your ladishipp dont believ me, let your ladishipp rite to miss elizbeth, as had this same misfortune to see as your tru frend,

“The Riter.”

In due course this charming communication reached Lady Honoria, bearing a London post-mark.  She read and re-read it, and soon mastered its meaning.  Then, after a night’s thought, she took the “Riter’s” advice and wrote to Elizabeth, sending her a copy of the letter (her own), vehemently repudiating all belief in it, and asking for a reply that should dissipate this foul slander from her mind for ever.

The answer came by return.  It was short and artful.