greater part of
the letter was taken up with a pleased forecast of the
time--could it possibly be next summer?--when Mr. and
Mrs. Bell would cross the Atlantic on a holiday trip. "I
will be quite an affluent person by then," Elfrida wrote,
"and I will be able to devote the whole of my magnificent
leisure to entertaining you."

She turned from the sealing of this to answer a, note
from Lawrence Cardiff. He wrote to her, on odds and ends
of matters, almost as often as Janet did now. He wrote
as often, indeed, as he could, and always with an amused,
uncertain expectancy of what the consciously directed
little square envelopes which brought back the reply
would contain. It was becoming obvious to him that they
brought something a little different, in expression or
feeling or suggestion, from the notes that came for Janet,
which Janet often read out for their common benefit. He
was unable to define the difference, but he was aware
that it gave him pleasure, especially as he could not
find that it was in any way connected with the respectful
consideration that Elfrida might have thought due to his
forty-seven years. If Mr. Cardiff had gone so far as to
soliloquize upon the subject he would have said to himself,
"In my trade a man gets too much of that." I do not know
that he did, but the subtle gratification this difference
gave him was quite strong enough, at all events, to lead
to the reflection. The perception of it was growing so
vivid that he instinctively read his notes in silence,
paraphrasing them for Janet if she happened to be there.
They had, as it were, a bloom and a freshness, a mere
perfume of personality that would infallibly vanish in
the communicating, but that left him, as often as not,
when he slipped the note back into the envelope with a
half smile on his lips.

Janet was conscious of the smile and of the paraphrasing.
In reprisal--though she would not have admitted it was
that--she kept her own missives from Elfrida to herself
whenever it occurred to her to check the generous impulse
of sharing the pleasure they gave her, which was not
often, after all. It was the seldomer because she could
not help feeling that her father was thoroughly aware of
her action, and fancying that he speculated upon the
reason of it. It was unendurable that daddy should
speculate about the reason of anything she did in connection
with Frida, or with any other young lady. Her conduct
was perfectly simple; there was