" "Six weeks have elapsed since that fatal night," replied Jack. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. ’ Then he bowed, raising his hat in salute and, crossing to the coach, spoke briefly to its driver and leapt into it without looking back. The door leaned inward. ’ The smile vanished. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. ” She looked at him quizzically. ’ ‘You know, Gerald,’ Lucilla put in thoughtfully, forestalling a withering rejoinder from the captain, ‘there may be something in that. It wouldn’t be you. " "What time is it?" inquired Jack. He was angry. “Then you need to find someone else. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. Would there be enough in the young man's envelope to pay the doctor and the hotel bill—and in the event of his death, enough to ship the body home? So all things pointed to the happy circumstance of setting this young fool upon his feet again, of seeing him hence upon his journey.
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