He was a fool! a fool! to think of her, to dream of the past, even. But it is pleasant, sometimes, to be a fool--where a beautiful woman is concerned, and only one's self to pay the piper. XIV THE SYMPHONY IN BLUE Macloud arrived the next day, bringing for his host a great batch of mail, which had accumulated at the Club. "I thought of it at the last moment--when I was starting for the station, in fact," he remarked. "The clerk said he had no instructions for forwarding, so I just poked it in my bag and brought it along. Stupid of me not to think of it sooner. Why didn't you mention it? I can understand why you didn't leave an address, but not why I shouldn't forward it." "I didn't care, when I left--and I don't care much, now--but I'm obliged, just the same!" said Croyden. "It's something to do; the most exciting incident of the day, down here, is the arrival of the mail. The people wait for it, with bated breath. I am getting in the way, too, though I don't get much.... I never did have any extensive correspondence, even in Northumberland--so this is just circulars and such trash." He took the package, which Macloud handed him, and tossed it on the desk. "What's new?" he asked. "In Northumberland? Nothing--beyond the usual thing. Everybody is back--everybody is hard up or says he is--everybody is full of lies, as usual, and is turning them loose on anyone who will listen, credulous or sophisticated, it makes no difference. It's the telling, not the believing that's the thing. Oh! the little cad Mattison is engaged--Charlotte Brundage has landed him, and the wedding is set for early next month." "I don't envy her the job," Croyden remarked. "It won't bother her!" Macloud laughed. "She'll be privileged to draw on his bank account, and that's the all important thing with her. He will fracture the seventh commandment, and she won't turn a hair. She is a chilly proposition, all right." "Well, I wish her joy of her bargain," said Croyden. "May she have everything she wants, and see Mattison not at all, after the wedding journey--and but very occasionally, then." He took up the letters and ran carelessly through them. "Trash! Trash! Trash!" he commented, as he consigned them, one by one, to the waste-basket. Macloud watched him, languidly, behind his cigar smoke, and made no comment. Presently Croyden came to a large, white envelope--darkened on the interior so as to prevent the contents from being read until opened. It bore the name of a firm of prominent brokers in Northumberland. "Humph! Blaxham & Company!" he grunted. "'We own and offer, subject to prior sale, the following high grade investment bonds.' Oh yes! I'll take the whole bundle." He drew out the letter and looked at it, perfunctorily, before sending it to rest with its fellows.--It wasn't in the usual form.--He opened it, wider.--It was signed by the senior partner. "My dear Mr. Croyden: