I walked on to my club afterwards, and amongst other letters found another from Suzee.

I could not imagine how she had obtained my club address at all, unless it was in that night when she came to my cabin.  She would be quite capable of searching for anything she wanted and taking away some of my letters to obtain and keep my address.

I did not open it at once.  I felt a sort of anger with Suzee as being partly responsible for all I was going through.  Whatever Viola might say, Suzee’s letter had seemed to bring her mad resolve to a climax.

I took some lunch at the club, and a man I knew came up and spoke to me.

“Up in town again, I see,” he began, to which I assented.

“How’s Mrs. Lonsdale?”

“Quite well, thank you,” I replied.

“Is she up with you?”

“No.”

“Coming up soon, I suppose?”

“I don’t know.”

My friend looked at me once or twice, and then after a few vacuous remarks went away.

I knew that in a few hours it would be all over the club that I and Viola no longer hit it off together, that in fact we were living apart, and by the evening a decree nisi would have been pronounced for us.  But I didn’t care what they said.  Nothing mattered.  No one could hurt me more than I was hurt already.  The worst had happened.

As I sat there I saw Lawton, who also belonged to the club, cross the end of the dining-room.  He, too, would come up and speak to me if he caught sight of me.

I felt I did not wish to speak to the man who had always loved Viola, who had always envied me her possession, and to whom once I had nearly lost her.

I got up and left the club, went back to my rooms, and there got out my letters to read.

After all, I thought, as I took up Suzee’s letter, why not go out to ’Frisco?  It would make a change, something to do, something to drive away this perpetual desire of another’s presence.

A second night like last stared me in the face.  What was the use of continuing to feel in this wretched, angry, burning, hungry way?

I broke the seal and read Suzee’s second appeal to me, more passionate, more urgent than the last.  She begged me to go to her without delay, or it would be too late; a fervour of longing breathed in every line.

An ironic smile came over my face as I read.  This letter to me seemed like an echo of the one I had sent to Viola that morning.  Well, I would wait for her answer, and then, perhaps, if she would not return to me, I would go to ’Frisco.

In any case, I would send a few lines to Suzee with the money for her purchase.  It would be best to cable it to her, and I went out again to arrange this.

Five wretched, listless days went by, followed by nearly sleepless nights, and then came Viola’s answer, apparently by the postmark from some place in France.

My whole body shook as I opened it, and for many seconds I could see nothing on the paper but a mass of dancing black lines.  Yet the immense comfort of being again in touch with her after these dreadful days of isolation seemed to flow over and through me like some healing balm.