“Mr. Sorell gave him, a little while ago, a wonderful new automatic thing—­a piano-player, I think they call it.  It works with a roll like a musical box and has pedals.  But Otto can’t do much with it.  To get any expression out of it you must use your hands—­both hands; and I am afraid it has been more disappointment than joy.  But there are rumours of some development—­something electric—­that plays itself.  They say there is an inventor at work in Paris, who is doing something wonderful.  I have written to a girl I know at the Embassy to ask her to find out.  It might just help him through some weary hours—­that’s all one can say.

“The relation between him and Mr. Sorell is wonderful.  Oh, what an angel Mr. Sorell is!  How can any human being, and with no trouble at all apparently, be so unselfish, so self-controlled?  What will any woman do who falls in love with him?  It won’t make any difference that he’ll think her so much better than himself—­because she’ll know the truth.  I see no chance for her.  My dear Nora, the best men are better than the best women—­there!  But—­take note!—­I am not in love with him, though I adore him, and when he disapproves of me, I feel a worm.

“I hear a good deal of the Fallodens, but nobody sees them.  Every one shrinks from pestering them with society—­not from any bad feeling—­but because every one knows by now that they are in hideous difficulties, and doesn’t want to intrude.  Lady Laura, they say, is very much changed, and Sir Arthur looks terribly ill and broken.  Aunt Marcia hears that Douglas Falloden is doing all the business, and impressing the lawyers very much.  Oh, I do hope he is helping his father!

“I can’t write about him, Nora darling.  You would wonder how I can feel the interest in him I do.  I know that.  But I can’t believe, as Otto does, that he is deliberately cruel—­a selfish, hard-hearted monster.  He has been a spoilt child all his life.  But if some great call were made upon him, mightn’t it stir up something splendid in him, finer things than those are capable of ‘who need no repentance’?

“There—­something has splashed on my paper.  I have written enough.  Now you must tell me of yourselves.  How is your father?  Does Aunt Ellen like Ryde?  I am so delighted to hear that Mr. Pryce is actually coming.  Tell him that, of course, I will write to Uncle Langmoor, and Lord Glaramara, whenever he wishes, about that appointment.  I am sure something can be done.  Give Alice my love.  I thought her new photographs charming.  And you, darling, are you looking after everybody as usual?  I wish I could give you a good hug.  Good-bye.”

* * * * *

To which Nora replied, a couple of days later—­

* * * * *