y to him, as long as its greyness
did not touch her. And why should it? The fact of his absence could not
possibly bring the same blank to her as it would to him. She might wonder
a little, she might even question. But had not she herself spoken of
trust?

With the memory of that one word for his encouragement, he took his
resolution in both hands and made his decision.

* * * * *

Perhaps, if Antony had attempted to pen his letter to the Duchessa before
making his decision, he might have hesitated regarding making it. It was,
however, not till the evening before he left town to take up his new
life, that he attempted to write to her. Then he discovered the
extraordinary difficulty of putting into anything like coherent and
convincing words the statement he had to make. He drafted at least a
dozen attempts, each, to his mind, more unsatisfactory than the last.
Finally he wrote as follows:

"Dear Duchessa:

"Since I said good-bye to you at Plymouth, my affairs have undergone
unexpected and quite unforeseen changes. As matters stand at present, I
shall be remaining in England for some time. I had hoped to see you when
you returned from Scotland, but find, deeply to my regret, that I will be
unable to do so, for a considerable time at all events. Need I tell you
that this is a great disappointment to me? I had been looking forward to
seeing you again, and now fate has taken matters out of my hands. When
the time comes that I am able to see you, I will write and let you know;
and perhaps, if by then you have not forgotten me, you will allow me to
do so.

"I would like to thank you for your kindness and comradeship to me during
the voyage. Those days will ever remain as a golden memory to me.

"Having in mind your words when we lunched together in the garden of that
little hotel at Teneriffe, I dare to inscribe myself,

"Always your friend,
"Antony Gray."

It was not the letter he longed to write, yet he dared not write more
explicitly. Honour forbade the smallest hint at the strange position in
which he found himself; diffidence held him back from writing the words
his heart was crying to her. Bald and flat as he felt the letter to be,
he could do no better. It must go as it stood. He headed it with the
address of his present rooms, giving his landlady instructions to fo