Early in October, Pamela passed through London on her way to Sussex, and broke her journey that she might see her friend. "Frances Millingham is writing to you," she said. "She wants you to stay with her in Leicestershire. I shall be there too. I hope you will come." "When?" "At the beginning of the New Year." Millicent laughed. "I shall have left England before then. Tony will have made his way," she said, with a joyous conviction. "There might be delays," Pamela suggested, in a very gentle voice. For suddenly there had risen before her mind the picture of a terrace high above a gorge dark with cypresses. She saw again the Mediterranean, breaking in gold along the curving shore, and the gardens of the Casino at Monte Carlo. She heard a young girl prophesying success upon that terrace with no less certainty than Millicent had used. Her face softened and her eyes shone with a very wistful look. She took out her watch and glanced at it. It was five o'clock. The school children had gone home by now from the little school-house in the square of Roquebrune. Was the schoolmaster leaning over the parapet looking downwards to the station or to the deserted walk in front of the Casino? Was a train passing along the sea's edge towards France and Paris? "One must expect delays, Millie," she insisted; and again Millie laughed. "I have had letters. I am expecting another. It should have come a fortnight since." And she told Pamela what the letters had contained. At first Tony had been a little bewildered by the activity of New York, after his quiescent years. But he had soon made an acquaintance, and the acquaintance had become a friend. The two men had determined to go into partnership; a farm in Kentucky was purchased, each man depositing an equal share of the purchase money. "Six weeks ago they left New York. Tony said I would not hear from him at once." And while they were sitting together there came a knock upon the door, and two letters were brought in for Millicent. One she tossed upon the table. With the other in her hand she turned triumphantly to Pamela. "Do you mind?" she asked. "I have been waiting so long." "Read it, of course," said Pamela. Millie tore the letter open, and at once the light died out of her eyes, and the smile vanished from her lips. "From New York," she said, halfway between perplexity and fear. "He writes from New York." And with trembling fingers she turned over the sheets and read the letter through.