_Listen. I was out with poor little Joe in the country, and went to an inn for tea. And there was a man in the garden. I didn't know he was there till his dog and Joe started scrapping, and then he ran up to separate them. The moment I saw him--I don't know how to tell you. I just felt floored.... Then--instinctively, I suppose, for I hardly knew what I was doing--I tried to cover up this feeling. I was furious with him for knocking me out. Can you ever understand? And I was pretty rude. He took it wonderfully and just apologized--Heaven knows what for--and cleared out. The moment he was gone, I could have torn my hair. I actually went again to the inn, to try and find him, though what I should have done if I had I don't know...._ _Then I saw him again--not to speak to--as I was coming away from the Opera. Now hold on to something--tight! He was in livery--a footman's livery._ _Yes. It made me jump, mentally, for the moment. Of course, I'd never dreamed of that. And then I realized that he must be down on his luck, and I felt so sorry for him I could have cried. As a matter of fact, I did cry. And then, all of a sudden, I knew that I loved him._ _We met properly a week or two later by accident--on his part. You must forgive me. If you knew him, you would. And now we know one another properly, and he's in service quite close to Bell Hammer, with George and Betty Alison--didn't you meet them at Christmas? Lost all their money, and went out as chauffeur and parlourmaid. Anne, George's sister, is there, too. And he came to dinner the other night, and Aunt Harriet likes him, and we're--well, great friends._ _And I don't know what to do. You see, he's terribly proud and honourable, and, to him, being a footman matters very much indeed. Of course it doesn't really matter in the least, but he would never look at it that way. And all my money, instead of making everything possible, as it might, only makes things worse._ _What is to be done?_ _I can't blame him. Indeed, I'd hate him to feel any other way, and yet.... If only the positions were reversed. Then it would be too easy. As things are, it's a deadlock. And I love him so, Uncle John. I suppose you couldn't possibly come. I have a feeling that you would straighten things out._ _Your loving niece, VALERIE._ _P.S.--I'm so terribly afraid he'll disappear or something. He's like that._ Monseigneur Forest read the letter with a grave smile. Then he read it again very carefully, looking to see if there was anything unwritten between the lines. Only once did he raise his eyes from the note-paper. This he did meditatively. Before returning to the letter, he went farther and raised his eyebrows.... The cause of this elevation is worthy of note. It was, in fact, none other than the reference to Anne--and yet not so much the reference itself as the manner in which this was made. The prelate, you will remember, was no fool.