A Tragedy of Love and Hate by Bertha M. Clay

On this bright September morning Sir Ronald sat in his library alone, the open letter in his hand, considering within himself whether he should decline without saying one word to his wife, or whether he should consult her as to the advisability of going or not. The thought of leaving her was most unpleasant; nay, it was distasteful to him. She had so completely changed the gloom of his life into brightest sunshine that it seemed to him in leaving her for ever so small a time he must leave all the light behind. And yet the prospect was a pleasant one. He had always liked traveling. His new pursuits were most fascinating to him. The idea of going to Africa and seeing the wonders of which he had been only able to read, write and dream, was full of novelty, pleasure and excitement. Still, there was Hermione and the children -- those little children, the love of whom had grown in his heart until his whole nature was changed. Were all the scientific pursuits in the world worth even one moment of absence from them? He could not decide. There were two voices in his heart and each called him different ways. The door opened gently and Lady Hermione entered. He was so deeply engrossed in his thoughts that he never heard her. She went up to him. They had no secrets from each other, this husband and wife who loved so deeply and so well. She laid one white arm caressingly round his neck and bent her beautiful head over him.

"Whom is your letter from, Ronald?"