I am
very glad you are so happy with that nice Mr. Fitzalan of
yours.

Yours,

M. B. S."

So far the note, although bearing signs of haste, was in Mildred's usual
clear handwriting; but there was a postscript scrawled crookedly across
the inner sides of the sheet and prefixed by several flourishes:

"Meet me at Paddington 4.30 train to-morrow. Meet me.
M."

Another flourish followed.

The note found Tims at the laboratory, which she had not intended
leaving till half-past four. But the perplexing nature of the
postscript, conflicting as it did with the body of the letter, made her
the more inclined to obey its direction.

She arrived at Paddington in good time and soon caught sight of Mildred,
although for the tenth part of a second she hesitated in identifying
her; for Mildred seldom wore black, although she looked well in it.
To-day she was dressed in a long, black silk wrap--which, gathered about
her slender figure by a ribbon, concealed her whole dress--and wore a
long, black lace veil which might have baffled the eyes of a mere
acquaintance. Tims could not fail to recognize that willowy figure, with
its rare grace of motion, that amber hair, those turquoise-blue eyes
that gleamed through the swathing veil with a restless brilliancy
unusual even in them. With disordered dress and hat on one side, Tims
hastened after Mildred.

"So here you are!" she exclaimed; "that's all right! I managed to come,
you see, though it's been a bit of a rush."

Mildred looked around at her, astonished, possibly dismayed; but the
veil acted as a mask.

"Well, this is a surprise, Tims! What on earth brought you here? Is
anything the matter?"

"Just what I wanted to know. Why are you in black? Going to a funeral?"

"Good Heavens, no! The only funeral I mean to go to will be my own. But,
Tims, I thought you were going to tea with Tony. Why have you come
here?"

"Didn't you tell me to come in the postscript of your letter?"

Mildred was evidently puzzled.

"I don't remember anything about it," she said. "I was frightfully tired
when I wrote to you--in fact, I went to sleep over the letter; but I
can't imagine how I came to say that."

Tims was not altogether surprised. She had had an idea that Mildred was
not answerable for that postscript, but Mildred herself had no clew to
the mystery, never having been told of Milly's written communication of
a year ago. She sickened at the possibilit