"What luck!" he thought. Yes, he was really very glad that Jean was asleep, poor girl. She would take it hard--to-morrow. He moved about like a cat, packing his valise. He had several letters to write, too,--one to his partner, one or two to clients, and one--well, why not? Why not write one to his wife? It would obviate a great deal of trouble on both sides; in fact, it would save him so much that he persuaded himself, without undue difficulty, that it would save her too. So he wrote the letter. It was a very affectionate letter. It set forth in the tenderest terms his devotion to her, and to her true interests, which, plainly, would be best served by some attention to his own health; he was really overworked; the Electric case had got where it could be left for a few days, and he would distinctly be gone but a few days; he promised her that--a week at the outside--and she was always so glad to have him get any sort of a vacation. He felt sure that he could count upon her sympathy in going. He would think of her constantly, and fly back to her with that constant--etc.--faithful, true, and tender--etc.--etc. He had to start so early in the morning that he would not wake her up. He would telegraph her from the first port they made. She must remember that the yacht was as safe as a Cunarder; they were only going to the Sound. He said nothing about ducks or guns. He gave her a Cape address to which she could send any message she chose. She must not get nervous. She must take the best care of herself for his sake. And he was her devoted husband. He slipped this letter under her door--slept a few hours--and waked at five. At half-past five he crept downstairs, his valise in his hand, and his heart in his throat. He heard Pink talking and grinding her teeth in her sleep; but Jean did not stir, thank Heaven. He slid out of the front door like a burglar, and ran. It was a brisk morning, and promised to be a fresh southwesterly. He walked a little way in the direction of the club. Abruptly he stopped, turned, and ran back. "It would n't do," he said; "I must see her; I must if the Dream sails without me. Let her sail!" he added. He pushed open the front door, and rushed noisily upstairs. The family was astir; the baby was crying; Pink was trotting about the upper hall, unnoticed, in her little nightgown and bare feet. He did not hear Jean's voice, but Molly's struck upon his ear in an agitated, incoherent manner. He went in through his own room; he was relieved to find that the letter under the door had not been disturbed. He caught it up, and slipped it swiftly into his pocket.