"To us, to me, also, certain fixed conventional limits are the basis of all happiness. To offend them is to be unhappy; to ignore them would mean destruction to our peace of mind and self-respect. And, though I do admire you and respect you for what you are, it is only just to you to say that we could never reconcile ourselves to those modern social conditions which you so charmingly represent, and which are embodied in you with such convincing dignity. "Dear Miss West, have I pained you? Have I offended you in return for all your courtesy to me? I hope not. I felt that I owed you this. Please accept it as a tribute and as a sorrowful acquiescence in conditions which an old-fashioned family are unable to change. "Very sincerely yours, "LILLY COLLIS." She lay for a while, thinking, the sheets of the letter lying loose on the bed. It seemed to require no answer. Nor had Mrs. Collis, apparently, any fear that Valerie would ever inform Louis Neville of what had occurred between his sister and herself. Still, to Valerie, an unanswered letter was like a civil observation ignored. She wrote that evening to Lily: "Dear Mrs. Collis: In acknowledging your letter of yesterday I beg to assure you that I understand the inadvisability of my marrying your brother, and that I have no idea of doing it, and that, through me, he shall never know of your letters or of your visit to me in his behalf. "With many thanks for your kindly expressions of good-will toward me, I am "Very truly yours, "VALERIE WEST." She had been too tired to call at Querida's studio, too tired even to take tea at the Plaza with Neville. Rita came in, silent and out of spirits, and replied in monosyllables to Valerie's inquiries. It finally transpired that Sam Ogilvy and Harry Annan had been tormenting John Burleson after their own fashion until their inanity had exasperated her and she expressed herself freely to everybody concerned. "It makes me very angry," she said, "to have a lot of brainless people believe that John Burleson is stupid. He isn't; he is merely a trifle literal, and far too intelligent to see any humour in the silly capers Sam and Harry cut." Valerie, who was feeling better, sipped her tea and nibbled her toast, much amused at Rita's championship of the big sculptor. "John is a dear," she said, "but even his most enthusiastic partisans could hardly characterise him as a humorist." "He's not a clown--if that's what you mean," said Rita shortly. "But, Rita, he _isn't_ humorous, you know." "He _is_. He has a sense of humour perfectly intelligible to those who understand it." "Do you, dear?" "Certainly ... And I always have understood it." "Oh, what kind of occult humour is it?" "It is a quiet, cultivated, dignified sense of humour not uncommon in New England, and not understood in New York."