Mrs. Armitage's party. I do not know but that it is
clearly my duty. I almost think that it is. But I am sure of this,--that
it is the one thing in the world that I cannot do. I don't think that a
man ought to be asked to tear himself altogether in pieces because some
one has ill-treated him. At any rate I cannot. If you say that it must
be so, you shall say it. I don't suppose it will kill me, but it will go
a long way.

"In writing so far I have not said a word of love, because, as far as I
understand you, that is a subject on which you expect me to be silent.
When you order me not to write, I suppose you intend that I am to write
no love-letters. This, therefore, you will take simply as a matter of
business, and as such, I suppose, you will acknowledge it. In this way I
shall at any rate see your handwriting.

"Yours affectionately,

"HARRY ANNESLEY."

Harry, when he had written this letter, considered that it had been
cold, calm, and philosophical. He could not go to America for three
years without telling her of his purpose; nor could he mention that
purpose, as he thought, in any language less glowing. But Florence, when
she received it, did not regard it in the same light.

To her thinking the letter was full of love, and of love expressed in
the warmest possible language. "Sir William Crook!" she said to herself.
"What can he want of Harry in America for three years? I am sure he is a
stupid man. Will I wait? Of course I will wait. What are three years?
And why should I not wait? But, for the matter of that--" Then thoughts
came into her mind which even to herself she could not express in words.
Sir William Crook had got a wife, and why should not Harry take a wife
also? She did not see why a private secretary should not be a married
man; and as for money, there would be plenty for such a style of life as
they would live. She could not exactly propose this, but she thought
that if she were to see Harry just for one short interview before he
started, that he might probably then propose it himself.

"Things be as they used to be!" she exclaimed to herself. "Never! Things
cannot be as they used to be. I know what is his duty. It is his duty
not to think of anything of the kind. Remember that he exists," she
said, turning back to the earlier words of the letter. "That of course
is his joke. I wonder whether he knows that every moment of my life is
devoted to him. Of course I bade him not to write. But I can t