“MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. The likeness was ridiculous. Later, at the bottom of that envelope I found a letter. Gerald’s breath caught. But I can't consent to the course you would pursue—at least, not till I've given it due consideration. ’ ‘But what do you want it for, miss?’ ‘But to protect myself. Have you got someone in mind for me?" "Finish your breakfast and I'll tell you the story.
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