Do, my dearest Madge, consent.'
When he came to this point his pen stopped. What he had written was
very smooth, but very tame and cold. However, nothing better
presented itself; he changed his position, sat back in his chair, and
searched himself, but could find nothing. It was not always so.
Some months ago there would have been no difficulty, and he would not
have known when to come to an end. The same thing would have been
said a dozen times, perhaps, but it would not have seemed the same to
him, and each succeeding repetition would have been felt with the
force of novelty. He took a scrap of paper and tried to draft two or
three sentences, altered them several times and made them worse. He
then re-read the letter; it was too short; but after all it contained
what was necessary, and it must go as it stood. She knew how he felt
towards her. So he signed it after giving his address at Hamburg,
and it was posted.
Three or four days afterwards Mrs Marshall, in accordance with her
usual custom, went to see Madge before she was up. The child lay
peacefully by its mother's side and Frank's letter was upon the
counterpane. The resolution that no letter from him should be opened
had been broken. The two women had become great friends and, within
the last few weeks, Madge had compelled Mrs Marshall to call her by
her Christian name.
'You've had a letter from Mr Palmer; I was sure it was his
handwriting when it came late last night.
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