At last she was completely restored. The doctors and nurses could find no pretext for lingering, and that in itself was proof positive of her health and strength. She was having her meals with the family, was attending to her correspondence, was alarmed because she was taking on flesh so rapidly. She began offering to join me in London. When she wrote that she was starting the next day I telegraphed her not to come; and, after four more days of delay on various excuses, I went down. I should have liked to postpone this interview a week or ten days. Again I see you smiling at me, posing as madly in love with Mary Kirkwood yet able to put off the joy of being free to go to her. But, gentle reader, you must not forget that I had first to deal with Edna. And, from what you have learned of her, do you think I was wise or foolish to wish to meet her only when she could not possibly prevent candor by pleading a remnant of invalidism? She was charmingly dressed to receive me, rushed forward before them all and flung her arms around my neck in a graceful, effusive fashion she had learned on the Continent. I received the shock as calmly as I could, noting the awkwardly concealed surprise of Margot and Hugh. We had lunch; she did most of the talking--a gay, happy-hearted rattling--the natural expression of a woman with not a care in the world. And I-- In spite of myself I felt like an executioner come to assassinate an unsuspicious and innocent victim. For the best side of her was to the fore, and all the unpleasant traits were so thoroughly concealed that they seemed to have been burned up in that terrible fever. I _knew_ they were still there, but I could not _feel_ it. When we were alone in her sitting room, she said: “Where’s your valet and your luggage?” “In London,” said I. “Oh, they’re coming on a later train.” “No,” said I, seizing this excellent opportunity. “I’m going back this afternoon.” She gave a cry of dismay. “Godfrey!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it a shame!” Then, rushing to the bell, “I’ll have my things got ready. I’ll go back with you. You shan’t be left alone, dearest.” I seated myself. “Don’t ring,” I said. “Wait till we’ve talked the matter over.” “I see you can’t really believe--even yet,” cried she laughingly. “I must convince you.” And she rang the bell. “When your maid comes, send her away,” said I. “Don’t order her to pack. You can’t go with me.” She looked at me anxiously. “How solemn you are!” she cried. “Has something gone wrong in that business?” “Nothing,” said I. The maid came, was sent away. Edna moved toward me, would have sat in my lap or on the arm of my chair had I not prevented her by rising on the pretext of lighting a cigarette. “You are very--very--strange,” said she. Then advancing toward me and gazing into my face, “Godfrey, there wasn’t any truth in that item--was there?” She looked like a sweet, lovely slip of a girl, all tenderness and sincerity.