There was a response to that as recognized, as exact, as the bishop's move in chess; indeed, it was expected of him; she was hesitating, waiting for it; but he was unable to reassure her with the conventional sentiment. A month ago he would have commanded and developed an enticing situation; but now, for Lee Randon, it was without possibilities, hardly more than perfunctory. A shade of vexation invaded her bearing, and she moved a significant infinitesimal fraction away from him. Then she discovered a wind blowing down the stairs. “I have to take such good care of myself,” she told Lee, preparing to descend. “It is because I am so delicate--I can get upset at nothing. Here you are all so strong; you have an advantage over me. Gilbert, dear,” she called from the hall, her voice musical with tender reproach, “I can't see how you love me, you stay away so far.” * * * * * “What did the little ass say to you?” Claire asked. Lee was standing with her by the piano, and the others were around the fireplace in the farther spaciousness. “Nothing much,” he replied. “You mean that she never stopped. I'll admit she's skillful; but she needn't think I'm a fool. But you will never guess what I want to tell you. My dear Lee, that Mrs. Grove wrote me a letter. I have it here in my dress, for you to read. It's a scream.” He took the sheet of note paper: it was grey with an address on East Sixty-sixth Street embossed in pale vermilion, and had an indefinable scent. The writing was decisive: “MY DEAR MRS. MORRIS, “It is so difficult for me to express my disturbance at what Mina Raff has just told me, that I am asking to see you here, at my house in New York. Engagements make it difficult for me to leave at present. I hope you will not find this impertinent from an older woman, threatened very much as you in her affections by an impossible calamity--” The signature, Savina Grove, had the crispness of a name often attached to opinions and papers of authority. “That's rather cool,” he agreed. “Cool! The woman's demented. No, I suppose she thinks I am an honest wronged woman or something objectionable of the sort. I was going to throw it away when I kept it to amuse you.” “It does, Claire; and I'm glad to see it; impertinent as she admits it may be, you must consider. As Mrs. Grove writes, you are both caught.” “If you think I'll go see her you are madder still.” “I realize you won't; but worse things could happen. It's the only possible approach to Mina Raff; I had a chance to try Peyton, but it did no good. It seems to me this Mina ought to have some understanding.” Claire Morris said: “You can do it.” He reflected. “Well, perhaps; I'm your uncle; there are no brothers, and what other family you have is away. It might be useful. Anyhow, she would hear a thing or two about you from me.”