Martin had gone to town to attend the funeral, but as Grizel had not attended the ceremony had had no glimpse of her. The ordinary letter of condolence had been forwarded, but had received no reply. A week dragged by, a fortnight, almost three weeks, and Martin, strained almost beyond endurance, was tentatively suggesting to Katrine that it would be a kind action to run up to town to pay Grizel a call, when the morning post arrived, and with it a letter in the large, well-known writing. "Will you put me up for a week?" Grizel wrote. "There is a lot of clearing away to be done here, and I must get away. Expect me to-morrow by the five o'clock train!" CHAPTER TWELVE. "Lebong, _August 20, 19--_. "Dear Katrine,-- "Your grumbly letter safely to hand. You explained the reasons right enough, for all your protests, and honestly, dear, I can't sympathise! All is going as I could have told you it would, and in the best way possible for all concerned. You've only to sit still, and await events. "I should like to meet Miss Grizel Dundas. She doesn't sound the sort of a girl a man _would_ look at with sorrowful eyes. I shouldn't myself. I'd think small beer of Martin if he did. Dorothea says there's an erratic old aunt in the question, and that no human soul can foretell what she may do. Personally I hope she'll leave her fortune to the Home for Stray Cats, or any mad scheme which old ladies approve, rather than to fascinating Miss Grizel. A few hundreds a year to buy frocks and frills is agreeable enough, but a colossal fortune is a handicap to a girl, so far as decent, single-minded men are concerned. _You_ are not an heiress by any chance, are you? My annual income from every source tots up to something like eight hundred a year, and as this is an expensive station, and the caste question necessitates an army of servants, it might very well be more... However! we were not talking about ourselves. "You are wrong about Martin, dear girl, and the sooner you realise it the better. There's no stepping down from pedestals in opening the heart to love and joy--the demoralising thing is to close it, out of a mistaken sense of duty. Are these years of repression shaping him into a kinder, wider, more generous form? Think over the question, and if you answer `no,' then what is to be his cure?