Haven’t I often felt inwardly virtuous on the strength of my compassion (more sentimental than practical!) for Susan’s motherlessness? How do I know that the poor good creature has not consciously pitied me on the same account? It isn’t too much to say that Susan has been almost a mother to me over and over again. Surely, then, it is my duty to be a mother to her in this big, sudden strain on her simple wits. Rumour says that Ruddington is all right. But Rumour sometimes has a lying tongue even when she speaks in a man’s praise. I have no guarantee whatever that Lord Ruddington intends to treat Susan honourably. If he doesn’t, I know I shall be a poor defender of Susan, and that I can’t hope to be his match in worldly knowledge and cunning. But I don’t mean to fail for want of doing my best. This is the reply I have drafted:-- THE GRANGE, TRAXELBY, Friday. Your letter of Tuesday was not one to be answered, or even acknowledged, in a hurry. Indeed, it is only after hesitation that I decide to answer it at all. How do I know that this unaccountable flame of passion has not died down as quickly as it sprang up? But there is a reason why, if I am to reply at all, I ought to do so to-day. To-morrow we are going to France. We shall be away a month. You ask me if I am free to bestow my affection where I will. The answer is--Yes. Deeply disturbed though I am by your surprising letter, I will not make a difficult situation more difficult still by anything like coyness. In fairness to both of us, I will speak as plainly and shortly and practically as I can. There is only one direct question in your letter, and I have answered it above. But there is an indirect question also. You want to know if the affection which I have not given elsewhere can be given to Lord Ruddington. The answer is--I do not know. You have seen _me_, but I have not seen _you_. Again, if I consent, you will remain in your old rank and station, while I must make a great and exacting and perilous change. Above all, you declare that you have the fullest possible inward light on this matter, whereas I have nothing of the kind. Thus you have a threefold advantage over me. Reading your letter as an offer of marriage, the most I can say to-day is that, for the present, I do not refuse it. Will you write to me once a week (not more) while I am at Sainte Véronique? Our address will be at the Hôtel du Dauphin. Meanwhile, I beg most earnestly that you will not try to see me before we leave to-morrow. This journey to France is surely providential, and we must not throw its advantages away.