ached the age of discretion,
which, in his case, was at his majority, Harry had been thoroughly
trained in the habit of writing letters that gratified the recipient
enormously without compromising the writer in the slightest degree. The
habitual dread of those _betes noires_ of Don Juan--the breach of
promise case and the Divorce Court--had got him into the way of writing
the sort of letter that he would have had no objection to hear read
aloud in court. Perhaps that was why the sentences were always polished,
and the meaning a little vague.

"... I don't speak your language, perhaps, but I understand your
letter, reading between the lines. It came like a whiff of fresh
sea air. Yes, it would be delightful to be on board _Flying Fish_
now. However, no doubt Algie Thynne--(_how_ eloquently, by the way,
you describe him! putting all the complications of his character
and the dazzling charm of his personality in a nutshell by the
simple sentence '_He's rather a nut!_')--amply compensates for my
absence. You ask if I know him. I do, though perhaps more by
reputation than anything else. We have met once or twice. Where? I
can't quite recall. Perhaps at the Oratory, or at the Supper Club
or some place of that sort. But somehow I never pursued his
acquaintance, nor did it ever ripen into friendship. I felt,
instinctively, that he was too clever for me.

"I trust all the same that his brilliance will not altogether
overshadow your memory of _others_. I should not like to think that
we were drifting apart. Still, if it should be so, I must resign
myself. I could still be happy in thinking of you, Alec.

_'Love that is love at all
Asks for no earthly coronal'_--

but, I remember, you once expressed to me your opinion that _all
poetry is rot_. So I will not bore you with quotations. It is
pleasant here, and my cousins are very kind, and leave me alone to
think as much as I like. I'm not, somehow, quite in the mood for
the usual gaieties and frivolities of a country house. Last night
we played Musical Chairs until two in the morning, and to-day I am
a little weary. Your postscript gave me joy. I need not say that I
reciprocate it, need I?...

"I feel all that you are feeling, and somehow even know what you
are doing, and if you did not write again until we meet, I should