ve.

Either way, however, I'll still be yours loyally,

PIETRO.

P.S. Can't sleep, can't dream. Something tells me all isn't well at
Kidd's Pines. I had forebodings before we started that there'd be
ructions when we got back, but I'd mislaid them under a thousand other
thoughts. Seems a long time ago! But while I was trying to sleep just
now, this came into my mind as if a voice spoke it: "Bridge the gulf
that parts you from your wish, and you can walk across." I wish it were
_your_ voice said that, old man!

P.P.S. Talk of women with their postscripts! They're not in it with me.
I keep leaping off the gridiron--I mean out of bed--again and again to
add a word that threatens to burst my brain if bottled up. This time
shall be the last! I only want to assure you that I'm not brooding over
any _coup_ of revenge against Caspian. My personal dislike of him has
nothing to do with my attitude, except that the more I see of the worm
the more I see what a worm he is. Not only is he unworthy to crawl in
the same atmosphere with Miss Moore (don't smile sarcastically at that
expression. I _like_ it!) but he's more fitted for underground
conditions than any caterpillar I ever met. Caterpillars change to
butterflies. Worms, as far as my knowledge goes, are changeless. I don't
feel revengeful against him. But I don't feel conscientious and dutiful
for a cent!

XII

PATRICIA MOORE TO ADRIENNE DE MONCOURT

CHERIE:

I have not the heart or the time for a long letter, but I must quickly
tell you that our Marcel _has_ a son. I asked P. S. But he seems not to
think your new cousin can be the same. Soon, surely, he will himself say
everything to you, and open his heart wide. Ah, how I wish you all there
is of happiness, the more because I am not to have it myself.

The critics knew better about life than I, you see, Mignonne. Yet I am
going to be brave. I have got myself engaged with Mr. Caspian already,
since I wrote from the beautiful house. You will think that strange, but
it came to happen in a simple way. It was at the dance at the Piping
Rock Club. That sounds romantic, is it not? But it was not romantic at
all. I just had to do it. Then, after a little while, I was very sorry.
I thought perhaps I need not have made myself this misery. I was not
nice to him the rest of that night, and the next day I would not let him
take a snapshot of me in the wonderful gar