"Three of the postscripts accounted for," said Mr. Carden-Cox. He began to reckon upon the ends of his fingers. "Fulvie's, Daisy's, Ethel's. Fulvia's sent to you; Daisy's to Ethel; Ethel's to Daisy. That's it, eh? Yes, I see; plain as a pikestaff. Ethel's and Daisy's were exchanged. Then yours and Fulvia's were exchanged too. Fulvia's to you; yours, of course, to Fulvia. What is the girl after not to give it up?" "Fulvia has not received it." "She has, I assure you. Must. Positively must. I put a postscript into each one of the four envelopes, and here is the only one not accounted for. Fulvia has yours to a dead certainty." "It is the most extraordinary thing to accuse a lady of! Fulvia would have told at once. Why not?" "That's right. I like to put you up in her defence. It positively does one good. My dear fellow, I don't accuse her of anything. I don't know why she has not passed the postscript on. Women's reasons are not easy to fathom. Fulvia trustworthy. Yes, no doubt. Like the rest of her sex. Acts upon impulse, and never thinks of consequences. Probably put it away in a drawer, and forgot all about it; as likely as not! Anything possible to a woman. I'll ask her when we meet; or you can put the question meantime. 'Rather not!' Too much of a coward, eh? But never mind; you just leave it to me. I'll bring her to book." Nigel managed at last to get away. He was very sore at heart, longing for quiet, that he might think over Ethel's note, which had been a sharp blow. He walked homeward swiftly, after his usual direct fashion, only not as usual taking in all about him, with glances to right and left as he went. His eyes were steadily downcast, and certain friends found themselves unconsciously passed by. "Young Browning in a state of meditation!" one acquaintance remarked. And a lady of sensitive temper was offended to be overlooked. While another of more robust mental make had leisure from herself to wonder if that nice young fellow were in trouble. His arm was in a sling still; but "it wasn't that," she said, and she said rightly. Nigel had long known the wish of Mr. Carden-Cox's heart about himself and Fulvia. He had hitherto ignored the idea, ridden over it, or laughed at it, as the case might be. Even the knowledge that his father was much bent upon the same could only cause regrets. But Ethel—if Ethel approved and was glad, this, indeed, made all the difference. For if Ethel could wish him to marry Fulvia, then it must have been that she could not and would not marry him herself. Life would be changed for Nigel, if things were so. No steel blade could have cut more deeply than the closing sentence of Ethel's little note to Mr. Carden-Cox. Glad to think he was going to be so happy! Glad to believe that he would marry Fulvia! Nigel's heart sank.