“No, please don't, and please don't go to the 'Gaiety'; he is a violent- tempered man; something dreadful might occur. Please, promise me.” “Not go to the 'Gaiety'? He doesn't know me.” “Yes, he does.” “Have I seen him? Do tell me; you know you can trust me. I am your friend. Tell me--” “You have seen him in the 'Gaiety,' in the grill-room--the waiter, number two, the good-looking tall man.” “Oh!” “He wasn't always a waiter; his people are very superior. He has been unfortunate.” “And it was he you loved this long while?” “I never cared for another man.” “I must write and tell him he is committing an act of injustice. I will make this matter right for you, Lizzie.” “Do you think you can?” “I am sure of it.” He rang for the landlady, and asked for writing materials. She apologised for the penny bottle of ink, and spoke of getting a table from the next room, but he said he could write very well on the chimney-piece. “I suppose I had better begin, 'Sir'?” “Don't people generally begin, 'Dear Sir'?” “Not when they don't know the people they are writing to.” “But you do know him a little. He always said you were very haughty. You used to sit at his table.” “I think I had better begin the letter with 'Sir.'” “Very well. You know best. He was always very jealous.” XVI “SIR,--I hear from Miss Baker that you were in Brighton last week, and, drawing the inference from the fact that she came to my studio to sit for her portrait, you accuse her of very grievous impropriety. I beg to assure you that this is not so. At my urgent request, Miss Baker, whom I had better say I have known for some years, consented to give me a sitting. My intentions were purely artistic; hers were confined to a wish to oblige an old friend, and I deeply regret that they should have been misinterpreted, and I fear much unhappiness caused thereby.” “Do you think that will do?” “Yes, it is a beautiful letter.” “Do you think so--do you really think so? Do you think I have said all?” “You might say something--that I never even kissed you; and that you respected me too much.” “I will if you like, but don't you think that is implied?” “Perhaps so; but you see he does not read many books. He hasn't time for much reading, and you put things in a difficult way. They sound beautiful, but I--” “Show me.” “Well, this 'grievous impropriety.' I know what you mean, but I couldn't explain it.” “Shall I say 'serious impropriety'? but grievous is the right word. You say a grievous sin for a mortal sin. If we had done any wrong it would have been a grievous sin; but I'll change the word if you like.” “No, don't change it on my account; but I think he would understand an easier word better.” “A 'heinous impropriety'? No, that won't do. A 'serious impropriety.' That will do. Is there anything else you would like me to alter?” “No, I don't think there is.” “You think this letter will convince him that there was nothing wrong?”