"There is much talk in Venice. They seem to have been seen together by various London friends who knew--about the difficulties last year. And then, of course, everybody is aware that you are not here--and the whole story of the book goes from mouth to mouth--and people say that a separation has been arranged--and so on. These are the kind of rumors that Margaret hears, especially from Mary Lyster, who is staying in this hotel with her father, and seems to have a good many friends here. "Dearest William--I have been lingering on these things because it is so hard to have to tell you what passed between me and Kitty. Oh! my dear, dear son, take courage. Even now everything is not lost. Her conscience may awaken at the last moment; this bad man may abandon his pursuit of her; I may still succeed in bringing her back to you. But I am in terrible fear--and I must tell you the whole truth. "Kitty received me alone. The room was very dark--only one lamp that gave a bad light--so that I saw her very indistinctly. She was in black, and, as far as I could see, extremely pale and weary. And what struck me painfully was her haggard, careless look. All the little details of her dress and hair seemed so neglected. Blanche says she is far too irritable and impatient in the mornings to let her hair be done as usual. She just rolls it into one big knot herself and puts a comb in it. She wears the simplest clothes, and changes as little as possible. She says she is soon going to have done with all that kind of thing, and she must get used to it. My own impression is that she is going through great agony of mind--above all, that she is ill--ill in body and soul.