"Good-night," Nigel said seriously, holding out his left hand. "No, I think I will not come in this evening. There isn't really much time—only, if I could have seen a little of you—But some other day must do instead. I suppose I may tell Daisy that you do not mind very much." "About the postscript? Oh no!" Then Nigel was gone, and Ethel still leant against the wall, with downcast eyes, feeling as if all the sunshine of her life had gone with him. The schoolroom door opened, and Lance's head popped out. "I say, Eth—Hallo, there you are!" lowering his voice from a shout. "I'll come in a minute, Lance. I must write just one line to catch the post." "That's what girls are always doing," retorted Lance. "I suppose 'just one line' means just ten pages. Well, mind you're quick, for I'm at a standstill, and you promised to come ages ago." Lance retreated, and Ethel went quickly to the dining-room side-table, where she first opened and read the postscript sent on by Daisy. Had it come alone, it would not have meant very much; she could have afforded then to smile at it; but following close upon the other, it brought a renewed pang. Ethel sat for a few minutes thinking, and then she dashed off, with small hesitation— "DEAR MR. CARDEN-COX,—The enclosed half-sheet came to me by mistake. I am very sorry that I stupidly read it through before finding out that it was meant for somebody else. I send it to you instead of to Daisy, because I would rather no one should know that I have seen it. "Thanks for your letter to me, and for giving leave about the magic-lantern. "Fulvia is very nice; and I am glad you think he is going to be so happy.—In haste, yours sincerely, "ETHEL ELVEY." The last paragraph was not written without a struggle, but pride insisted. Something had to be said or done to put her into a right position—to convince Mr. Carden-Cox that, at all events, she was not seeking Nigel. In another minute the letter was ready. Ethel caught up a shawl, threw it over her head, and ran out of the front door, through the garden, across the road, to the red pillar-box, careless of pattering rain. Then the envelope was beyond recall; and Ethel came slowly back, wondering if she had done wisely. "If one could only be always sure!" she muttered within the door, shaking off a little shower. "And if only I need not hurt him!" With an effort she braced herself up, tossed aside the shawl, and entered the schoolroom. "You've kept me waiting a jolly time, and no mistake," averred Lance. "Just see, Ethel, how in the world am I to make out all this French gibberish?" Ethel sat down for an hour of patient work, going steadily into such explanations as Lance needed, and making herself very clear. But all the while she never ceased to see a pair of dark eyes, full of pain at the touch of her cold fingers.