What Susan had taken the postscript to mean I have no notion. Nor do I know yet whether, in the near future, I shall be expected to give Susan and her spouse a suite of rooms at Traxelby, or whether she will offer me a housekeeper’s place at the Towers. It is plain that she does not entertain the idea of our being parted. I said: "Lord Ruddington doesn’t like to think that you are ... well, in any sense a servant. To put it plainly, he wants to find you money, so that you can begin to lead a lady’s life at once. It does him credit. But, Susan, of course you can’t take money from him. Have you saved anything?" Susan says she has saved thirty pounds. And nothing could be sounder than the quickness and firmness with which she decided that cash transactions with Lord Ruddington just now are unthinkable. Nor can anything be more indisputable than her unweakened devotion to myself. "You can go upstairs and practise handwriting," I told her. "Come down in about half an hour, and I shall have some sort of a letter ready." But two half-hours passed in vain attempts to produce an epistle proper to Susan’s temperament and intellect. I’ve realized this afternoon that I can never write a play. I tried hard to think and feel as Susan must think and feel; but I could only think and feel on my own account. At the end of an hour and a half, the best I had been able to achieve was this:-- SAINTE VÉRONIQUE, _Tuesday_. Yes. You may call me "Dear Susan." But you must not say "My," until it is true. You say it was good of you not to ride over the Heath to the station. If you had done it, I should have been grieved. We had a smooth crossing from Newhaven, and we stayed till Monday morning in Dieppe. I like Sainte Véronique, and do not want to spend my month anywhere else. I am not angry with you for saying what you do about setting me free. How could I be anything but grateful for an offer that is so kindly meant and so delicately made? To ease you of your kind fears on my account, let me tell you that I have always been happy with Miss Langley; and that, during this month, I shall have little work and plenty of leisure. I look forward to receiving another letter from you on Monday. SUSAN BRIGGS. "It’s beautiful, Miss!" said Susan dejectedly, after she had perused my effort. And she sat looking up into the sky, the picture of disappointment and indecision. I went to the rescue. "Say what’s in your mind, Susan. There’s a ’but,’ isn’t there? It’s beautiful, but ... what?" "I was thinking," confessed Susan blushfully, "that it isn’t..." "Isn’t what?" "It isn’t ... very loving." "Loving?" I said. "What do you mean? Why, here you are, spending a month deciding whether you can try to care for Lord Ruddington or not. It isn’t time yet to be ’loving.’" "No," persisted Susan. "But I mean, Miss, won’t he be disappointed?"