I think the house will do splendidly.  The Lindens is the name, and it is on the Maybury Road, not more than a quarter of a mile from the station.  If your mother and you could come down on Tuesday or Wednesday, I should get a half-day off, and you would be able to inspect it.  Such a nice little lawn in front, and garden behind.  A conservatory, if you please, dining-room and drawing-room.  You can never assemble more than four or five guests.  On your at-home days, we shall put up little placards as they do outside the theatres, ‘Drawing-room full,’ ‘Dining-room full,’ ‘Room in the Conservatory.’  There are two good bedrooms, one large maid’s room, and a lumber-room.  One cook and one housemaid could run it beautifully.  Rent 50 pounds on a three years’ lease—­with taxes, about 62 pounds.  I think it was just built for us.  Rupton Hale says that we must be careful not to brush against the walls, and that it would be safer to go outside to sneeze—­but that is only his fun.

What a dull, stupid letter!  I do hope that I shall be in good form on Saturday.  I am a man of moods—­worse luck! and they come quite regardless of how I wish to be, or even of how I have cause to be.  I do hope that I shall make your day bright for you—­the last day that we shall have together before the day.  There have been times when I have been such bad company to you, just when I wished to be at my best.  But you are always so sweet and patient and soothing.  Until Saturday, then, my own darling.—­Ever your lover, frank.

P.S.—­I open this to tell you that such a gorgeous fish-knife, with our monograms upon it, has just arrived from Mrs. Preston, my father’s old friend.  I went to the Goldsmith’s Company in Regent Street yesterday afternoon, and I bought—­what do you think?  It looks so beautiful upon its snow-white cotton wadding.  I like them very broad and rather flat.  I do hope you will think it all right.  It fills me with the strangest feelings when I look at it.  Come what may, foul weather or fair, sorrow or joy, that little strip of gold will still be with us—­we shall see it until we can see no more.

P.P.S.—­Saturday!  Saturday!!  Saturday!!!

CHAPTER IV—­THE TWO SOLOS

Their tryst was at the Charing Cross bookstall at one o’clock, and so Mr. Frank Crosse was there at quarter-past twelve, striding impatiently up and down, and stopping dead whenever a woman emerged from the entrance, like a pointer dog before a partridge.  Before he came he had been haunted by the idea that possibly Maude might have an impulse to come early—­and what if she were to arrive and not find him there!  Every second of her company was so dear to him, that when driving to meet her he had sometimes changed from one cab to another upon the way, because the second seemed to have the faster horse.  But now that he was on the ground he realised that she was