“I sent off that letter to-day,” he said carelessly.

“Right,” said ’Bias; “I sent mine, too.”

“Four-thirty post, mine went by.”

“So did mine.”

“She’ll get ’em together, then, first delivery to-morrow.”

“Ay.”

“That puts us all square.  She’ll be amused, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“I didn’ try to be amusin’ in mine,” said ’Bias after a pause, puffing stolidly.

“No more did I.”  Cai filled and lit his pipe in silence.  His conscience troubled him a little.  “Well,” said he, dropping into his arm-chair, “the matter’s settled one way or another, so far as we’re consarned.  The letters are in the post, and there’s no gettin’ them out unless by Act o’ Parliament.  I don’t mind tellin’ you just what I said, if you think ’twould be fairer-like.”

“I’m agreeable.”

“You won’t take it amiss that I pitched it pretty strong?”

“Not at all,” answered ’Bias.  “Come to that, I pitched it pretty strong myself.”

Cai smiled tolerantly, and felt for the rough draft in his pocket.  He fished it forth, unfolded the paper, and spread it on his knee under the lamp-light.  Then, having adjusted his glasses, he picked up his pipe again.

“I just started off,” said he, “by hintin’ that she might be a bit surprised at hearin’ from me.”

“That’s true enough,” agreed ’Bias.  “She’ll be more’n surprised, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I don’t see why.”

“Don’t you? . . .  Well, no offence.  It’s a very good way to begin.  In fact,” said ’Bias in a slightly patronising tone, “it’s pretty much how I began myself.  Only I went on quick to hope she wasn’t—­how d’ye call it?”

“I don’t know what word you used. I should have said affronted,’ if I take your meanin’.”

’Bias gave a start.  “As it happens I—­er—­hit on that very word.  I remember, because it looked funny to me, spelt with two f’s.  But I went on to say that I meant honourable, and that she mustn’t blame me, because this kind o’ thing happened without respect o’ persons.”

Cai sat up, stiff and wondering.  He took off his glasses and wiped them.  “You said—­that?” he asked slowly.

“I said a damned sight more than that,” chuckled ’Bias.  “I said that love had its victims as well as its something else beginning with a v, which I forget the exact expression at this moment, and that I’d never looked on myself as bein’ in the former cat—­no, case.  You can’t think how I pitched it,” said ’Bias, folding his hands comfortably over his stomach.  “The words seemed just to flow from the pen.”

“Oh, can’t I?” Cai, sitting up with rigid backbone, continued to gaze at him.  “Oh, they did—­did they?  And maybe you didn’ go on to explain you weren’t precisely in the first flush o’ youth—­not what you might call a passionate boy—­”

It was ’Bias’s turn to sit erect.  He sat erect, breathing hard.  “There—­there’s nothing unusual about the expression, is there?” he stammered.  “Though how you come to guess on it—­”