An Old-Fashioned Man by Edgar Saltus — Read

Again Claire looked at the anonymous letter. On florid paper, in a hand that was cramped and perhaps disguised, but in words entirely free from restraint, it informed her that her husband was amusing himself elsewhere.

She turned. A Verelst -- that is to say one whose ancestry extended to the days when New York was a sleepy Dutch seaport -- there were few here better born than she and, as she never mentioned the fact, there were few also that were better bred.