“Gone!” exclaimed Trent, with an abrupt laugh. “It has got right away. I am going after it in a minute.” He looked gravely down into her eyes. “I don’t care so much now. I never could declare myself to you under the cloud of your great fortune. It was too heavy. There’s nothing creditable in that feeling, as I look at it; as a matter of simple fact it was a form of cowardice—fear of what you would think, and very likely say—fear of the world’s comment too, I suppose. But the cloud being rolled away, I have spoken, and I don’t care so much. I can face things with a quiet mind now that I have told you the truth in its own terms. You may call it sentimentality or any other nickname you like. It is quite true that it was not intended for a scientific statement. Since it annoys you, let it be extinguished. But please believe that it was serious to me if it was comedy to you. I have said that I love you, and honour you, and would hold you dearest of all the world. Now give me leave to go.” But she held out her hands to him. Chapter XIV. Writing a Letter “If you insist,” Trent said, “I suppose you will have your way. But I had much rather write it when I am not with you. However, if I must, bring me a tablet whiter than a star, or hand of hymning angel; I mean a sheet of note-paper not stamped with your address. Don’t underestimate the sacrifice I am making. I never felt less like correspondence in my life.” She rewarded him. “What shall I say?” he enquired, his pen hovering over the paper. “Shall I compare him to a summer’s day? What _shall_ I say?” “Say what you want to say,” she suggested helpfully. He shook his head. “What I want to say—what I have been wanting for the past twenty-four hours to say to every man, woman, and child I met—is ‘Mabel and I are betrothed, and all is gas and gaiters.’ But that wouldn’t be a very good opening for a letter of strictly formal, not to say sinister, character. I have got as far as ‘Dear Mr. Marlowe.’ What comes next?” “I am sending you a manuscript,” she prompted, “which I thought you might like to see.” “Do you realize,” he said, “that in that sentence there are only two words of more than one syllable? This letter is meant to impress, not to put him at his ease. We must have long words.” “I don’t see why,” she answered. “I know it is usual, but why is it? I have had a great many letters from lawyers and business people, and they always begin, ‘with reference to our communication’, or some such mouthful, and go on like that all the way through. Yet when I see them they don’t talk like that. It seems ridiculous to me.”