“If you think it worth while,” she answered doubtfully. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. In mailing the tales he had not enclosed return postage or the equivalent in money. I tried it myself, Sir.
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