ers which he already
almost knew by heart:

6, Lightwood Place, January, 28th.

You told me to write to you if ever I was in real trouble and
thought you could help me. Oh, Theo, darling, I am in great
trouble, and life, especially since that happy time--you know when
I mean--is more wretched than ever. You used to say I was
extraordinarily pretty, I wonder if you would say so now, for I am
simply ill--worn out with worry. He--you know who--has found out
something; such a little insignificant thing; and since then he
makes my life unbearable with his stupid jealousy. It isn't as if
he knew about you and me, that would be something real to grumble
at, wouldn't it, darling? Sometimes I feel tempted to tell him all
about it. How he would stare! He is incapable of understanding
anything romantic. However, I'm in no mood for laughing now. He's
got a woman in to watch me, but luckily I've quite got her to be
on my side, though of course I haven't told her anything about my
private affairs.

Will you meet me one day this week, to-morrow if you can, at No.
15, Calthorpe Street? Four o'clock is the safest time for me.
Between the two small shops you will see a swing door with "Madame
Paula, Milliner," on it; push it open and go straight upstairs. On
the first landing you will see a door with "Gone out, enquire
upstairs," on it. Push up the door knob (don't try to turn it) and
walk in. The room will be empty, but you will see a door leading
to a back room; push _up_ the knob and there--there you will find
your poor little Pansy, fainting with joy at seeing her big strong
Theo again.

Send me a postcard, saying "Mrs. Garvice can be fitted on (day you
select)." If posted before eleven, it will reach me in time. Of
course, I'm running a risk in meeting you _here_, so near my home,
but I _must_ see you, for I have a great favour to ask you, Theo,
and I dare not propose going away even for one day.

PANSY GARVICE.

Major Lane paused a moment, then went on:

Theo, I wrote to you ten days ago, but I have had no answer. I am
dreadfully worried; I know you are in Birmingham, for I saw your
name in a paper before I wrote to you. I have gone through such
terrible days waiting for the postcard I asked you to send me.
Write, if only to say you don't want to hear again of poor
miserable

PANSY GARVICE.

"I suppose you will now admit that you know who