"The thing is this," she said with some
hesitation. "I wasn't quite honest in what I said to you a few minutes
ago. I have the uncomfortable feeling that I am to a certain degree
responsible, even to blame, for much of ... what has happened here. And
it isn't a pleasant feeling, Maurice."

"My dear girl!" he said again. "If it's any consolation to you to know
it, I owe you the biggest debt of my life."

"Then you decline my proposal, do you?"

"You're the same good friend you always were. But you're making a
mountain out of a molehill. What's all this fuss about? Merely because
I haven't chosen to work my fingers to the bone, and wear my nerves to
tatters over that old farce of a PRUFUNG. As for my choosing to stay
here, instead of going home like the rest of you--well, that's a matter
of taste, too. Some people--like our friend Dove--want affluence, and a
fixed position in the provinces. Frankly, I don't. I'd rather scrape
along here, as best I can. That's the whole matter in a nutshell, and
it's nothing to make a to-do about. For though you think I'm a fool,
and can't help telling me so--that, too, is a matter of opinion."

"Well, I don't intend to apologise for myself at this date, be sure of
that! And now I'll go. For if you're resolved to hold me at arm's
length, there's nothing more to be said.--No, stop a minute, though.
Here's my address in England. If ever you should return to join us
benighted ignorants, you might let me know. Or if you find you can't
get on here--I mean if it's quite impossible--I have money, you know
... and should be glad--at a proper percentage, of course," she added
ironically.

"That's hardly likely to happen."

She laid the card on the table. "You never can tell.--Well, good-bye,
then, and in spite of your obstinacy, I'll perhaps be able to do you a
good turn yet, Maurice Guest."

As soon as he heard the front door close, he returned to his occupation
of piecing together the bits of the letter. Ever since he had torn it
up--throughout her visit--his brain had been struggling to recall its
exact contents, and without success; for, owing to Madeleine's
presence, he had read it hastily. Otherwise, what he had done to-day
did not differ from his usual method of proceeding. This was not the
first horrible unsigned letter he had received, and he could never
prevail on himself to throw them in the fire, unopened. He read them
through, two or three times, then, angered by their contents