After eating, Mr. Mindon took a walk through his house. He did not stay long in the living room. It reminded him of all the hours he had spent there at his wife’s parties. The sight of the formal dining room made him feel even more uncomfortable. He remembered the long dinners where he had to talk to his wife’s friends for hours. They never seemed very interested in what he was saying. Mr. Mindon walked quickly past the ballroom where his wife danced with her friends. He would go to bed after dinner. But he could hear the orchestra playing until three in the morning. Mr. Mindon walked into the library. No one in the house ever read any of the books. But Mr. Mindon was proud to be rich enough to have a perfectly useless room in his house. He went into the sunny little room where his wife planned her busy days and evenings. Her writing table was covered with notes and cards from all her friends. Her wastepaper basket was full of empty envelopes that had carried invitations to lunches, dinners, and theater parties. Mr. Mindon saw a letter crushed into a small ball on the floor. He bent to pick it up. Just as he was about to throw it into the wastepaper basket, he noticed that the letter was signed by his business partner, Thomas Antrim. But Antrim’s letter to Mr. Mindon’s wife was not about business.