“Please find enclosed, as business people say, an English bank-note for a hundred pounds, which I think clears me of my debt to you in the way of money, though not of gratitude. By my ‘paying up’ so soon, you will judge that I have ‘fallen on my feet’--and that I have accepted ‘service’ under Dr. Dimitrius. What is more, and what will please you most, is that I am entirely satisfied with my situation, and am likely to be better off and happier than I have been for many years. The Doctor does not appear to be at all an ‘eccentric,’--he is evidently a _bona-fide_ scientist, engaged, as he tells me, in working out difficult problems of chemistry, in which I hope and believe I may be of some use to him by attending to smaller matters of detail only; he has a most beautiful place on the outskirts of Geneva, in which I have been allotted a charming suite of rooms with the loveliest view of the Alps from the windows,--and last, by no means least, he has a perfectly delightful mother, a sweet old lady with snow-white hair and the ‘grand manner,’ who has captivated both my heart and imagination at once. So you may realise how fortunate I am! Everything is signed and settled; and there is only one stipulation Dr. Dimitrius makes, and this is, that while I am working with him, I may neither write nor receive letters. Now I have no one I really care to write to except you; moreover, it is impossible for me to write to anyone, as I am supposed to be dead! So it all fits in very well as it should. You, of course, know nothing about me, save that I was unfortunately drowned!--and when you see ‘Pa’ and ‘Ma’ clothed in their parental mourning, you will, I hope, manage to shed a few friendly tears with them over my sudden departure from this world. (N.B. A scrap of freshly cut onion secreted in your handkerchief would do the trick!) I confess I should have liked to know your impression of my bereaved parents when you see them for the first time since my ‘death!’--but I must wait. Meanwhile, you can be quite easy in your mind about me, for I consider myself most fortunate. I have a splendid salary--a thousand a year!--just think of it!--a thousand Pounds, not Francs!--and a perfectly enchanting home, with every comfort and luxury. I am indeed ‘dead’ as the poor solitary woman who devoted her soul to the service of ‘Pa’ and ‘Ma’; a new Diana May has sprung from the ashes of the old spinster!--it is exactly as if I had really died and been born again! All the world seems new; I breathe the air of a delicious and intelligent freedom such as I have never known. I shall think of you very often, you bright, kind, clever little Sophy!--and if I get the chance, I will now and then send you a few flowers,--or a book,--merely as a hint to you that all is well. But, in any case, whether you receive such a hint or not, have no misgivings or fears in regard to me;--for years I haven’t been so happy or so well off as I am now.