n, for the first time in many days, he
thought of his money. "And if she does," he said half aloud, "shall I
not follow? Shall not gold command everything save her heart, and can I
not win that for myself?" And he took courage and quietly opened the
note.

"MY DEAR DR. CLAUDIUS--As the time is approaching, will you not do
me a favour? I want you to make a list of books to read on the
voyage--that is, if I may count on your kindness as an expounder.
If not, please tell me of some good novels.

"Sincerely yours,"

and her full name signed at the end. The hot blood turned his white
forehead red as Claudius finished reading. He could not believe his
eyes, and the room swam for a moment; for he was very much in love, this
big Swede. Then he grew pale again and quite calm, and read the note
over. Novels indeed! What did he know about novels? He would ask her
plainly if she wanted his company on the yacht or no. He would say,
"Shall I come? or shall I stay behind?" Claudius had much to learn from
Mr. Barker before he was competent to deal with women. But then Claudius
would have scorned the very expression "to deal" with them; theirs to
command, his to obey--there was to be no question of dealing. Only in
his simple heart he would like to know in so many words what the
commands were; and that is sometimes a little hard, for women like to be
half understood before they speak, and the grosser intellect of man
seldom more than half understands them after they have spoken.

A note requires an answer, and Claudius made the usual number of
failures. When one has a great deal more to say than one has any right
to say, and when at the same time one is expected to say particularly
little, it is very hard to write a good note. All sorts of ideas creep
in and express themselves automatically. A misplaced plural for a
singular, a superlative adjective where the vaguer comparative belongs;
the vast and immeasurable waste of weary years that may lie between
"dear" and "dearest," the gulf placed between "sincerely yours, John
Smith," and "yours, J.S.," and "your J.," until the blessed state is
reached wherein the signature is omitted altogether, and every word
bears the sign-manual of the one woman or one man who really exists for
you. What a registering thermometer of intimacy exists in notes, from
the icy zero of first acquaintance to the raging throb of boiling
blood-heat! So Claudius, after many trials, arriv