I am going to be very frank indeed. To a poor girl, with her living to earn, your offer is so tempting and marvellous that, if you pressed it immediately and in person, I fear I might be swept off my feet into acceptance long before I could be sure that love will exist on both sides. For your own sake, if not for mine, do not put me to such proof. What would my consent be worth if you won it solely through the powers of your wealth and birth to dazzle my eyes and confuse my brain? My month abroad will serve two ends. By correspondence we shall know one another better; and our first meeting will thereby be made less embarrassing and formidable--especially to me. Again (and you must forgive me for saying it), time and absence may reveal to you more of your own heart and mind. Perhaps you will repent most bitterly of your letter which I am now answering, and, if so, it will surely be better to admit that you have been the victim of a passing madness rather than to fasten life-long unhappiness upon us both. SUSAN BRIGGS. I can hardly say I am proud of this production. Quite the contrary. Both in matter and style, it’s altogether too un-Susanish. Indeed, now that I’ve tried and failed, I’m beginning to have more respect for the effusion of the young lady in the short-waisted muslin frock. Perhaps if I’d taken out the bits about the coach and the casual intercourse her letter would have been better than mine. Heaven knows what Susan will make of it! I’m positively nervy every time I hear her on the stairs. All the same, I’ve said the best thing to Lord Ruddington, even if I’ve said it in the worst way. Going to Sainte Véronique bright and early to-morrow morning is quite a good scheme. If the noble lord comes hot-foot after us, I can certainly manage him better at Sainte Véronique than here at the Grange. Besides, I’m half persuaded that the poor boy’s paroxysm won’t last long. If needs be, we’ll go to Alice’s when we come back to England. I think we’ll travel by Dieppe. It means more train-journey on the other side, but he’s less likely to track us and bother us that way. Of course, if he did anything of the kind, it would be abominable. But one never knows where a madman will draw the line. _Before dinner_. Susan isn’t happy. I can see she doesn’t like my draft. But she’s docile, and she’s going to use it. I made the poor thing sit beside me at my desk while we went through it together. At the end she said: "Thank you, Miss. But I hate to think I’ve caused so much trouble." "That’s nothing, Susan," I said. "Just tell me plainly if you think it’ll do." "It’s beautiful, Miss," said Susan. "Only..." "Only what?" "Well, Miss, very likely I’m wrong. But it seems to leave him a way of backing out again." I was prepared for this. So I said, severely: "Susan, what do you mean?"