’MY DEAR MR. KENDAL—­You know, I think, that I am off next week—­on Monday, if all goes well.  We go to Switzerland for a while, and then to Venice, which people tell me is often very pleasant in August.  We shall be there by the first week in August, and Mr. Wallace tells me he hears from you that your sister, Madame de Chateauvieux, will be there about the same time.  I forgot to ask you yesterday, but, if you think she would not object to it, would you give me a little note introducing me to her?  All that I have heard of her makes me very anxious to know her, and she would not find me a troublesome person!  We shall hardly, I suppose, meet again before I start.  If not, please remember that my friends can always find me on Sunday afternoon.—­Yours very truly, ISABEL BRETHERTON.’

Kendal’s hand closed tightly over the note.  Then he put it carefully back into its envelope, and walked away with his hands behind him and the note in them, to stare out of window at the red roofs opposite.

‘That is like her,’ he murmured to himself; ’I wound and hurt her:  she guesses I shall suffer for it, and, by way of setting up the friendly bond again, next day, without a word, she asks me to do her a kindness!  Could anything be more delicate, more gracious!’

Kendal never had greater difficulty in fixing his thoughts to his work than that morning, and at last, in despair, he pushed his book aside, and wrote an answer to Miss Bretherton, and, when that was accomplished, a long letter to his sister.  The first took him longer than its brevity seemed to justify.  It contained no reference to anything but her request.  He felt a compulsion upon him to treat the situation exactly as she had done, but, given this limitation, how much cordiality and respect could two sides of letterpaper be made to carry with due regard to decorum and grammar?

When he next met Wallace, that hopeful, bright-tempered person had entirely recovered his cheerfulness.  Miss Bretherton, he reported, had attacked the subject of Elvira with him, but so lightly that he had no opportunity for saying any of the skilful things he had prepared.

‘She evidently did not want the question seriously opened,’ he said, ’so I followed your advice and let it alone, and since then she has been charming both to Agnes and me.  I feel myself as much of a brute as ever, but I see that the only thing I can do is to hold my tongue about it.’  To which Kendal heartily agreed.

A few days afterwards the newspapers gave a prominent place to reports of Miss Bretherton’s farewell performance.  It had been a great social event.  Half the distinguished people in London were present, led by royalty.  London, in fact, could hardly bear to part with its favourite, and compliments, flowers, and farewells showered upon her.  Kendal, who had not meant to go at the time when tickets were to be had, tried about the middle of the week after the Oxford Sunday to get a seat, but found it utterly