. . . for a while. I met his sister through him. He invited me to visit his home, during the Easter holidays.”
“And when did you quarrel?”
“When he practically accused me of wanting to marry her for her money.”
“You were not wealthy, then?”
“No, and I ’m not wealthy now. I was studying medicine when I married, and I gave it up—at her request—to look after the investments, the properties, that were left to her by her father. I ’ve taken a commission out of the estate, but it has never more than paid my expenses.”
“So—if these anonymous letters to your wife were to succeed in poisoning her mind against you—you ’d be ruined financially. Is that the situation?”
Harper looked narrowly at his cigar; it had gone out. “I ’m not so much concerned about the financial aspects of it. I ’ve been very happy with my wife. And I ’m fond of my boy.”
