“Many happy returns of June the Ninth.  It was one of our great days—­wasn’t it?—­once upon a time.  All your best and dearest wishes we are wishing for you—­over here.  And of course I’ve heard your tremendous news; though you never wrote and told me—­why?  You say she is beautiful.  I hope she is a lot more besides.  You would need a lot more, Roy, unless you’ve changed very much from the boy I used to know.

“It is cruel having to write—­in the same breath—­about Lance.  From the splendid boy he was, one can guess the man he became.  To me it seems almost like half of you gone.  And I’m sure it must seem so to you—­my poor Roy.  I don’t wonder you felt bad about the way of it; but it was the essence of him—­that kind of thing.  A verse of Charles Sorley keeps on in my head ever since I heard it:—­

     ’Surely we knew it long before;
      Knew all along that he was made
      For a swift radiant morning; for
      A sacrificing swift night shade.’

     “I can’t write all I feel about it.  Besides, I’m hoping your pain
     may be eased a little now; and I don’t want to wake it up again.

“But not even these two big things—­not even your Birthday—­are my reallest reason for writing this particular letter to my Bracelet-Bound Brother. Do you remember?  Have you kept it, Roy?  Does it still mean anything to you?  It does to me—­though I’ve never mentioned it and never asked any service of you. But—­I’m going to, now.  Not for myself.  Don’t be afraid!  It’s for Uncle Nevil—­and I ask it in Aunt Lilamani’s name.

“Roy, when I came home, the change in him made me miserable.  He’s never really got over losing her.  And you’ve been sort of lost too—­for the time being.  I can see how he’s wearing his heart out with wanting you:  though I don’t suppose he has ever said so.  And you—­out there, probably thinking he doesn’t miss you a mite.  I know you—­and your ways.  Also I know him—­which is my ragged shred of excuse for rushing in where an angel would probably think better of it!

“He has been an angel to me ever since I got back; and it seems to cheer him up when I run round here.  So I do—­pretty often.  But I’m not Roy!  And perhaps you’ll forgive my bold demand, when I tell you Aunt Jane’s looming—­positively looming!  She’s becoming a perfect ogre of sisterly solicitude.  As he won’t go to London, she’s threatening to cheer him up by making the dear Beeches her headquarters after the season!  And he—­poor darling—­with not enough spirit in him to kick against the pricks.  If you were coming, he would have an excuse.  Alone—­he’s helpless in her conscientious talons!

     “If that won’t bring you, nothing will—­not even my bracelet
     command.