“Of course,” she told herself, regarding the scissors vacantly, “it’s almost impossible for him to have replied in time to reach me this evening. What with the Bank Holiday traffic and one thing and another....” She pinned her hopes to Wednesday morning.... § 3 On Wednesday morning she came downstairs early. The post came usually at seven-fifteen, and letters were as a rule by her plate when she came to breakfast at eight. Never before had the prospect of reading letters enticed her from bed before seven-forty-five. But this morning was beautiful and sunny, and she thought (as she lay in bed about a quarter past seven): “It is shameful to lie in bed on such a morning as this! I’ve a good mind to get up and have a stroll up the High Road before breakfast.” She dressed and came downstairs to the basement sitting-room. As she turned the handle of the door her heart beat fast and she thought: “Another five seconds and I shall know! Another five seconds and----” There was something by her plate! Only it was rather too bulky to be a private letter. But there was probably a letter hidden underneath it. She approached quickly and snatched it up.... Nothing! The bulky package was a copy of a book of words for a forthcoming concert at which she was to play. As she went out into Gifford Road the early pilgrims to the City were already converging into the stream that flowed along the High Road towards Upton Rising Station. It was, as she had before noticed, a beautiful morning. Passing the pillar-box, she was struck by the appalling possibilities of a letter being lost in the post. It had to be taken from the pillar-box into a bag, carried to the central post-office, sorted, put into another bag, and finally inserted in the letter-box of just one out of the ten thousand houses of Upton Rising! At a dozen crises in its chequered course it might stray, get lost, or be waylaid. The arrival of it was a miracle! That a few words scribbled on an envelope should guide a slip of paper through all the maze and tangle of civilization, finally selecting one out of a possible million spots for its delivery, was nothing less than a stupendous miracle! ... Strange that it had never occurred to her before. On the pillar-box plate she read: “Letters containing coin etc. should not be posted in this box, but should be registered.” That, of course, was a safeguard against theft. There were always letter thieves about. It was a lucrative business. They opened letters at random hoping to find postal orders inside. No doubt letters were often lost in this way.... But, of course, he had scarcely had time to reply yet. Perhaps he was consulting Razounov. Perhaps he was not in Upton Rising, and his letters had to be forwarded on to him. Or perhaps he had written and delayed to post the letter. Or perhaps the Bank Holiday traffic.... She pinned her faith to the midday delivery.... § 4