She sat down clasping the letter between her palms, feeling the familiar glow steal over her, rising from the very sheets close-written in that sensitive erratic hand. Now, while her heart still beat with relief, joy, surprise, now while Jennifer seemed to have drawn near once more of her own accord, to be enquiring, holding out hands, hinting that she needed her--now it seemed plain at last what was to come. Whatever Jennifer had done, would do, they two must be together again. She took up a pen and wrote. My darling, I knew your letter would come, because I wanted it so badly. There are no new things and people. There is nothing. I haven’t got on very well without you and being happy seems to belong to a far-back time when you wore a green straw hat with a wreath of pink clover. You have explained everything at last. Thank you, darling. Perhaps if we had both explained things more to each other, there wouldn’t have been such blanks and failures. I am at home, alone, wondering, like you, what to do next. I am quite free. I want to be with you again. Let us meet and think of something to do together. I shall go to Cambridge for a day at the beginning of next term. Meet me there. I’d hate to find you again for the first time in a different setting. I promise not to remind you of the past or of things you want to forget. I too only want to see a future now. I am living in an utter solitude, which is thrilling but insidious. This time of year always reminds me of you. I wish you were here to bathe at mid-day, when the haze is warm and golden, to share my fruity meals, and drift on the cold white-misted moony river after dark. Tell me a date and I will come. To think of you without your hair! Mine is exactly as it used to be. JUDITH. 6 Some days later, the same post brought two letters. One was Jennifer’s answer, scribbled all but illegibly across a half-sheet of note-paper, dashed off, it seemed, in wild haste.