Keith!  Jenny gave a sob and moved swiftly to the light.  Her eyes were quite blurred with shining mist.  She could not read the words.  Keith!  She could only murmur his name, holding the letter close against her.

ii

“MY DEAR JENNY,” said the letter.  “Do you remember?  I said I should write to you when I got back.  Well, here I am.  I can’t come to you myself.  I’m tied here by the leg, and mustn’t leave for a moment.  But you said you’d come to me.  Will you?  Do!  If you can come, you’ll be a most awful dear, and I shall be out of my wits with joy.  Not really out of my wits. Do come, there’s a dear good girl.  It’s my only chance, as I’m off again in the morning.  The man who brings this note will bring you safely to me in the car, and will bring you quite safely home again. Do come!  I’m longing to see you.  I trust you to come.  I will explain everything when we meet.  Yours always, KEITH.”

A long sigh broke from Jenny’s lips as she finished reading.  She was transfigured.  Gone was the defiant look, gone were the sharpnesses that earlier had appeared upon her face.  A soft colour flooded her cheeks; her eyes shone.  Come to him!  She would go to the end of the world....  Keith!  She said it aloud, in a voice that was rich with her deep feeling, magically transformed.

“Come to you, my dear!” said Jenny.  “As if you need ask!”

Then she remembered that Emmy was out, that she was left at home to look after her father, that to desert him would be a breach of trust.  Quickly her face paled, and her eyes became horror-laden.  She was shaken by the conflict of love and love, love that was pity and love that was the overwhelming call of her nature.  The letter fluttered from her fingers, swooping like a wounded bird to the ground, and lay unheeded at her feet.

iii

“What shall I do?” Nobody to turn to; no help from any hand.  To stay was to give up the chance of happiness.  To go—­oh, she couldn’t go!  If Keith was tied, so was Jenny.  Half demented, she left the letter where it had fallen, a white square upon the shabby rug.  In a frenzy she wrung her hands.  What could she do?  It was a cry of despair that broke from her heart.  She couldn’t go, and Keith was waiting.  That it should have happened upon this evening of all others!  It was bitter!  To send back a message, even though it be written with all her love, which still she must not express to Keith in case he should think her lightly won, would be to lose him for ever.  He would never stand it.  She saw his quick irritation, the imperious glance. ...  He was a king among men.  She must go!  Whatever the failure in trust, whatever the consequences, she must go.  She couldn’t go!  Whatever the loss to herself, her place was here.  Emmy would not have gone to the theatre if she had not known that Jenny would stay loyally there.  It was too hard!  The months, the long months during which Keith had not written, were upon