Captain Rage cleared his throat. _MY DEAR AUNT IRA,_ _When I remember our fortunate encounter yesterday afternoon and your subsequent kind hospitality at the Hôtel de France, I find it more than painful to have to tell you that the marriage which had been arranged between Miss Voile and myself will not take place. The rupture between us is still so recent that I am not in a condition of mind conducive to conducting correspondence, still less to recording in black and white the ruin of my hopes, but I feel that in view of the interest which you were good enough to take in my engagement, it is my duty, cost what it may, to put you in immediate possession of the unhappy truth. This, I fear, may possibly affect your decision to come to Biarritz. I do not propose to weary you with the details of our sudden estrangement further than to confess . . ._ “Oh, that’s maddening,” cried Cicely, clapping her hands. “Go on.” “But I can’t go on,” cried Toby. “That’s the devil of it. I don’t know what to confess. All that first bit’s eye-wash—quite all right as a lead. But now I’ve got to land a hell of a punch. The next two lines have got to do the trick. They’ve got to satisfy, allay and crush. They’ve got to satisfy her curiosity, allay her suspicion and crush her initiative.” “That’s easy,” said Miss Voile. “Give me the pad.” In a silence too big for words the writing-pad passed. Cicely finished the sentence and threw it back. _. . . . that it is now quite clear that we do not and never did love one another._ “That’s no good,” said Toby. “That’s simply inviting investigation. How can you reconcile that with, er, with the ‘_Toby darling_’ of yesterday afternoon?” “Then cut me out,” said Miss Voile. “Say— _. . . . clear that I do not and never did love her._ How can she go behind that?” “That,” said Captain Rage, “would bring her over by return.” “Why?” “Because the inference is that you still love me. Remembering the violent fancy she’s taken to you, is it likely that she’d sit still and allow me to turn you down? She’d come over here like a bear robbed of her whelks—whelps.” Cicely stared upon the ground. “Well, I’ll tell you what,” she said uncertainly. “Stick to my first suggestion and add these words.” She began to dictate slowly. _You must not think this conclusion inconsistent or precipitate, because this is not, as you know, the first time that I have been engaged, while——_ “No, no. I can’t say that,” cried Toby. “It’s—it’s out of the question. She—I never told her about Leah.” “Leah?” cried Cicely. “Oh, you Mormon.” “I mean Rachel,” said Rage hurriedly. “Leah—Leah was her second name.” Miss Voile stared at the sea with trembling lips. So soon as she could trust her voice— “The trouble is,” she said, “you’ve written in the wrong strain—sounded the wrong note.”