_I’m awfully sorry, but I’m afraid I must put you off to-morrow. I’ve had so many late nights lately that one more or less has come to matter quite a lot._ _I’m sure you’ll understand._ _Yours_, _Kate_. Though she did not say so, Mrs. Festival had spoiled three sheets of notepaper phrasing that note. _Wednesday._ _Dear Kate_, _Will you forgive me if I don’t come to-morrow? Jonah wants me to play at Roehampton against the Red Hats, and they’re sure to want me to dine and talk shop. You know._ _Yours_, _Gill_. That was Captain Festival’s third attempt. Their reception of their respective bow-strings was anything but cordial. Staring at the familiar handwriting, Katharine went very white. “So,” she said quietly. “Well, I’ve only myself to thank. I’ve whipped off the finest husband that ever a woman had—with the most natural result. . . . He’s turning elsewhere. Madrigal, of course.” She bit her lip savagely. Suddenly she remembered the letter she had written the night before. “My God!” she cried, and clapped her hand to her mouth. “He’ll think I meant it, of course. _I meant him to, and he will._ It’ll drive him into her arms! I’ve cleared his way! He’ll have no compunction _now_. . . .” She flung herself down on the bed and buried her face. “Why did I write?” she wailed. “Why did I ever write? If only I’d waited . . . if only . . .” She began to weep passionately. Giles, fresh from his bath, stared at his letter as at a death-warrant. He read it through twice, carefully. Then he sat down on his bed, sweating, and read it again. Then he lowered the document to his knee and sat staring at his wardrobe with eyes that saw nothing. Finally, he gave a short laugh and, getting upon his feet, proceeded to brush his hair, whistling softly. . . . Half-way through the operation, he started violently. “My God!” he cried. “_That blasted letter of mine._ . . .” Brushes in hand, he gazed at his reflection in the glass. “Oh, you poisonous fool!” he hissed. “You blundering, blunt-nosed idiot, you’ve put the burning lid on and screwed it down. You’ve torn it—bent it irreparably. Of course, she’ll think I meant it. _I meant her to._ . . . And now—I’ve put myself out of Court. I’ve told her to run away and play. I’ve pushed her off!” He closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the wall. “Oh, Kate, Kate, Kate! . . . What have I done, my sweet? What have I done?” * * * * *