s that they are masterly.

But I am forgetting to tell you what Delilah said of you. It was on
the night of her house-warming. She asked about you, and when I said
that you had gone south to get atmosphere for some stories you were
writing, she said:

"Do you know it came to me yesterday, while I was in church, where I
had seen him. It was the same text, and that was what brought it back.
He was _preaching_, my dear. I remember that I sat in the front pew
and looked up at him, and thought that I had never heard such a voice;
and now, tell me why he has given it up, and why he is burying himself
in the South?"

At first I didn't know just what to say, and then I thought it best to
tell the truth. So I looked straight at her, and said: "He made a most
unhappy marriage, and gave up his life-work. But now his wife is dead,
and some day he may preach again." Was it wrong for me to say that? I
do hope you are going to preach; somehow I feel that you will. And
anyhow while people need never know the details of your story, they
will have to know the outlines. It seemed to me that the easiest way
was to tell it and have it over.

Of course Gordon has asked some questions, and I have told what I
thought should be told. I hope that you won't feel that I have been
unwise. I thought it best to start straight, and then there would be
nothing to hide.

And now may I tell you a little bit about Barry? They want him to go
away--back to England with Gordon and Constance. You see Gordon looks
at it without sentiment. Gordon's sentiment stops at Constance. He
thinks that Barry should simply give Leila up, go away, and not come
back until he can show a clear record.

Of course I know that Gordon is right. But I can't bear it--that's why
I haven't been able to face things with quite the courage that I
thought I could. But since my talk with Grace, I am going to look at
it differently. I shall try to feel that Barry's going is best, and
that he must ride away gallantly, and come back with trumpets blowing
and flags flying.

And that's the way you must some day come into your own.--I like to
think about it. I like to think about victory and conquest, instead of
defeat and failure. Somehow thinking about a thing seems to bring it,
don't you think?

Oh, but this is such a long letter, and it is gossipy, and scrappy.
But that's the way we used to talk, and you seemed to like it.

And now I'll say "Good-night." Pi