We were sitting at supper when it came, held by one corner in her apron by our landlady, and my face went pale as I saw the schoolgirl superscription. “From Dolly?” murmured Duke. I nodded and broke the seal. My hands trembled and a mist was before my eyes. It ran as follows: “Dear Renny: Thank you very, very much for your kind offer, but I can’t accept it. I thought I had so much to say, and this is all I can think of. I hope it won’t hurt you. It can’t, I know, for long, because now I see I was never really the first in your heart; and your letter don’t sound as if you will find it very difficult to get over. Please forgive me if I’m wrong, but anyhow it’s too late now. I might have once, but I can’t now, Renny. I think perhaps I became a woman all in a moment yesterday. Please don’t write or say a word to me again about this, for I mean it really and truly. Your affectionate friend, Dolly Mellison.” “P. S.--It was a little unfair of you, I must say, not to tell me about that Zyp.” I sat and returned the letter to its folds quite coolly and calmly. If there was fire in me, I kept it under then. “Duke,” I said, quietly, “she has refused me.” He struggled up from his chair. His face was all amazement and his voice hoarse. “Refused you? What have you said? What have you done? Something has happened, I tell you.” “Why? She was at perfect liberty to make her own choice.” “You wrote to her last night?” “Yes.” “Why did you? Why didn’t you do as I understood you intended to yesterday?” “I asked you to leave that question alone for the present.” “You’ve no right to. I----” his face flamed up for a moment. But with a mighty effort he fought it under. “Renny,” he said, in a subdued voice, “I had no business to speak to you like that. But you don’t know upon what a wheel of torment I have been these last weeks. The girl--Dolly--is so much to me, and her happiness----” he broke off almost with a sob. I sprung to my feet. I could bear it no longer. “Think what you like of me!” I cried. “I have made a muddle of the whole business--a wretched, unhappy muddle. But I suffer, too, Duke. I never knew what Miss--Miss Mellison was to me till now, when I have lost her.” “I don’t ask to see her letter. You haven’t misread it by any possibility?” “No--it’s perfectly clear. She refuses me and holds out no hope.” He set his frowning brows and fell into a gloomy silence. He took no notice of me even when I told him that I must go into the open air for awhile to walk and try to find surcease of my racking trouble.