“So you think—­that she is—­falling in love, then?” enquired Ravenslee slowly.

“Well, Hermy’s Hermy, an’ she’s wrote you two letters to my knowin’—­”

“No, only one, Mrs. Trapes.”

“Now Hermy ain’t the kind o’ girl t’ write twice to a man unless—­”

“But she has only written me one letter, Mrs. Trapes—­the one she left with you last week.”

“Oh, well—­here’s the other!” said Mrs. Trapes, laying before him an envelope addressed in the handwriting he had come to know so well.

“Why didn’t you give it to me before?” he enquired.

“Her orders, Mr. Geoffrey.”

“Orders?”

“Orders!” nodded Mrs. Trapes.  “She come in here last night an’ give it me after you was gone t’ bed.  ‘Ann dear,’ she says, ’don’t let him have it till half after ten t’ morrer,’ she says.  An’ it’s nearly eleven now—­so there’s y’r letter!”

“But,” said Ravenslee, “why on earth—­”

“P’raps th’ letter’ll tell you, Mr. Geoffrey; s’pose you read it while I clear away your breakfast things!”

Hereupon Ravenslee opened the letter and read these words: 

My dear,

It would be my joy to trust myself to you utterly, to go with you to the world’s end if you would have it so.  Only I’m afraid that I am not quite what you would have me.  I’m afraid that I might sometimes do things that would remind you that I had been only a scrubwoman.  I’m afraid that some day you might regret.  Were I to answer you now, I should answer you selfishly—­so, please, you must give me time to think, for both our sakes.  Love has never come near me before, and now I am a little afraid, for love is not little and tender and babyish, but great and strong and very fierce and masterful—­that is why I am afraid of it.  So I must go away from you, from the sound of your voice, the touch of your hand—­to think it all out.  My work will take me to Englewood to-morrow, and I want you to wait for your answer until I come back, for then I shall have decided one way or the other.  But in Englewood the memory of your words will be with me still—­oh, did you mean all, quite all you said, and did you say quite all you meant to say—­did you?  Did you?  For indeed it has seemed to me that if you really meant all you said you might have said a little more—­just a little more.  This is a dreadfully long letter and very badly expressed, I know, but I dare not read it through.  But what I have written is written from my heart.

Hermione.

P.S.  I shall be in Englewood three whole days.

“Will strawberry jam an’ angel cake an’ a bunch or so o’ water cress be enough, Mr. Geoffrey?”

Ravenslee sat staring down at the letter, rubbing his square, fresh-shaven chin as one very much at a loss.

“‘Might have said a little more—­just a little more,’” he muttered, his gaze focussed upon a certain line.

“Will water cress an’ angel cake an’ a pot o’ strawberry jam soot, Mr. Geoffrey?”