My cheerfulness was further increased by the sight of a letter from Fay lying on the breakfast-table. She had only favoured me with hurried post-cards so far since she left home; but this was a letter, and her letters always gave me pleasure. Moreover, I felt this was going to be an extra pleasant one, as it would doubtless herald her return home. So I opened it with all the joy of anticipation, and this is what I read-- "My DEAR REGGIE, "It is no good going on as we are doing: it is horrid for you and horrid for me. Annabel is quite right in saying that we aren't at all suited to one another; and I am sure that you will be much happier alone with her, without Frank and me to bother you and upset all your little fussy ways. So we have decided to leave England for good, and go back to live with Aunt Gertrude: and we shall both go on the stage and earn our living that way, though there is no necessity for us to do so, as we have got some money of our own, and Uncle Sherard and Aunt Gertrude have plenty and will be only too pleased to have Frank and me to live with them again. But we shall still go on the stage because we adore it so, and love acting and dancing so much. We always intended to do it, but falling in love with you changed everything and upset my plans. "Please don't try to stop us, because you can't. Frank arranged everything beforehand, and before you get this letter we shall have sailed for Melbourne. I shan't write to you again, because the sooner you forget me the better. I hope you and Annabel will be very happy together, just as you were before Frank and I came to Restham. And I am sure you will be, as you have always loved her more than you have loved me. "Good-bye. "From your loving wife, "FAY." CHAPTER XVII DESOLATION I cannot remember what happened immediately after Fay's letter shattered my life at one blow. I only know that Annabel found me lying unconscious on the dining-room floor when she came down to breakfast, and that I then had a severe attack of brain-fever, which very nearly proved fatal. But Annabel and Arthur and Ponty were all very good to me, and--with the aid of two trained nurses--brought me back, sorely against my will, into that spoiled life which I had hoped I had done with for ever. As usual, I was foredoomed to failure. I could not even die when I wanted to. In the words of the unhappy Napoleonic Prince, called familiarly "Prince Plon-Plon," I acknowledged my crowning defeat: "I could succeed in nothing--not even in dying." Fay's desertion had wounded me past healing. It was a catastrophe so unlooked for, so appalling, that words were useless either to describe or to believe it. The worst had happened. I had been weighed in her balance, been found wanting, and cast aside as worthless: therefore there would be nothing worth living for ever any more.