"When I nail a job, I’ll report to the family. If you make new plans, may I hear from you? "Wishing you both a jolly and successful autumn, "Your cousin, "JAMES EDGERTON 3d." Her reply came by return mail: "Jim, dear, I feel very badly about your injury. It was my fault; I cannoned into you. You behaved as only a man of your sort always does. I won’t say any more about it. "By this time I hope you are freer from pain. The first two days are the limit; I know from experience and two mended ribs. But—I hate to think of you in bed this glorious autumn day—and the little fool who sent you there idling in the sunshine of these lovely hills. "Jim, dear, it is generous and entirely like you to ask us to make your place our headquarters between engagements. "If we do it, it will be only because we all would be happier en famille. Even we, hardened materialists that we are, could not bring ourselves to use you. You know that, don’t you? So I have assumed that your offer is not only a kindness, but a genuine expression of regard for us; and we return to the full whatever you feel for us. "Jim, there are many things that I am denying myself to say to you; and I find self-denial hard. It’s a worthy and laudable virtue which Silvette and I are trying to acquire in our old age, and it isn’t easy. "There’s no news. Mrs. Wemyss seems to have fascinated your friend, Mr. Inwood. He’s a curious sort of man—rather melancholy of temperament, I fancy. "We play a languid sort of polo now and then, dawdle in canoes, and sit up too late at cards. "A lot of men are coming for the shooting. Mr. Rivett’s manager turned out several thousand pheasants and Hungarian partridges, it seems. The latter, they say, have vanished; the former seem disposed to wander into the front yard. "Mrs. Lorrimore has departed with much of Judge Wicklow’s salary. Her stouter and prettier friend, Mrs. Wemyss, despoiled almost everybody except Silvette and me. This letter is degenerating into gossip. It had to, or I might have been even more indiscreet. "Jim, you are a good type of citizen when you’re at your best. Let me lecture you, won’t you? Anyway, you’re helpless and in bed and miles away, and you can’t prevent me. "So—be yourself. Go into a man’s business. Disregard your accomplishments, your cleverness at paraphrasing art. It doesn’t count in real life, all this facility with paint and pen and paper—your gay imitation of painter, writer, composer. They’re little gifts, Jim—meant for an hour of light leisure among the leisured—pleasant, but unimportant accomplishments. When you court some nice girl, some day, you’ll understand their full value—which is to amuse her, and later, I prophesy, the jolly little family of a home-returning business man.