I have not yet the fibre for work; New York is empty without you, as my garret would be without your singing. I shall go away somewhere for a little, leaving my itinerary--when I decide upon it--at the _Granville_. Some time soon I shall hear from you. All shall be restored--even serenity to your beautiful spirit. I only suffer now in that it proved business of mine to bring you agony. I wanted to make you glad through and through; to lift your spirit, not to weight it down; to make you wiser, happier,--to keep you _winged_. This, as I know the truth, has been my constant outbreathing to you.... My window at the _Granville_ faces the East--the East to which I have come--yet from the old ways, I still look to the East for you. New York has found her Spring--a warm, almost vernal night, this, and I smell the sea.... Two big, gray dusty moths are fluttering at the glass--softly, eagerly to get at the light--as if they knew best.... They have found the way in, for the window was partly open, and have burned their wings at the electric bulb. The analogy is inevitable ... but _you_ would not be hurt, for flame would meet flame.... I turned off the light a moment and remembered that you have already been hurt, but that was rather because flame was not restored by flame.... One moth has gone away. The other has curled up on my table like a faded cotton umbrella. So many murder the soul this way in the pursuit of dead intellectual brilliance.... Bless your warm heart that brims with singing--singing which I must hear again.... An old sensation comes to me now as I cease to write. My garret always used to grow empty and heartless--as I closed and sealed a letter to you.... You are radiant in the heart of Quentin Charter. She was unconscious of passing time, until her eye was attracted by the heavy handwriting of Selma Cross upon a _Herriot Theatre_ envelope. This communication was an attempt to clear herself with Paula, whose intrinsic clarity had always attracted truth from the actress; also it seemed to contain a struggle to adjust herself, when once she began to write, to the garment of nettles she had woven from mixed motives.