He was not incapable, either, of appreciating Edith's attitude. She had never cross-questioned him, never asked him for a single detail, never laboured the subject, nor driven the point home, nor condescended even to try to find out how far things had really gone. She hadn't even told him how she knew; he was ashamed to ask. And, after that promise of forgiveness, she never referred to it; there was never the slightest innuendo, teasing, reproach. Yes, by Jove! Edith was wonderful! And so Bruce meant to play the game too. For several days he asked the porter at the club if there were any letters, receiving the usual reply, 'None, sir.' The third day he received the following note, and took it to read with enjoyment of the secrecy combined with a sort of self-important shame. Until now he hadn't communicated with her:-- 'Dear Mr Ottley, Of course you know I'm not returning to the children after the holidays, nor am I going with you to Westgate. I'm very unhappy, for I fear I have offended Mrs Ottley. She has always been very kind to me till now; but I shall let the matter rest. Under the circumstances I suppose I shall not see you any more. May I ask that you should not call or write. I and mother are going to spend the summer at Bexhill with some friends. Our address will be Sandringham, Seaview Road, Bexhill, if you like to write just one line to say good-bye. I fear I have been rather to blame in seeing you without Mrs Ottley's knowledge, but you know how one's feelings sometimes lead one to do what one knows one ought not to ...' 'Sandringham, indeed! Some boarding house, I suppose,' said Bruce to himself. 'What a lot of 'ones'!... Fine grammar for a governess.' '... Wishing you every happiness (I _shall_ miss the children!). Yours sincerely, Margaret Townsend '_P.S._--I shall never forget how happy I was with you and Mrs Ottley.' Bruce's expression as he read the last line was rather funny. 'She's a silly little fool, and I shan't answer,' he reflected. Re-reading the letter, he found it more unsatisfactory still, and destroyed it. The thought of Miss Townsend bored him unutterably; and indeed he was incapable of caring for any woman (however feebly) for more than two or three weeks. He was particularly fickle, vague, and scrappy in his emotions. Edith was the only woman for whom even a little affection could last, and he would have long tired of her but for her exceptional character and the extraordinary trouble and tact she used with him. He didn't appreciate her fine shades, he was not in love with her, didn't value her as another man might have done. But he was always coming back to a certain steady, renewed feeling of tenderness for her.