"I hope you caught your train," she wrote. "Veronica did not get
back till half-past six. She informed me that you and she had found
a good deal to talk about, and that 'one thing had led to another.'
She is a quaint young imp, but I think your lecture must have done
her good. Her present attitude is that of gentle forbearance to all
around her--not without its dignity. She has not snorted once, and
at times is really helpful. I have given her an empty scribbling
diary we found in your desk, and most of her spare time she remains
shut up with it in the bedroom. She tells me you and she are writing
a book together. I asked her what about. She waved me aside with
the assurance that I would know 'all in good time,' and that it was
going to do good. I caught sight of just the title-page last night.
It was lying open on the dressing-table: 'Why the Man in the Moon
looks sat upon.' It sounds like a title of yours. But I would not
look further, though tempted. She has drawn a picture underneath.
It is really not bad. The old gentleman really does look sat upon,
and intensely disgusted.
"'Sir Robert'--his name being Theodore, which doesn't seem to suit
him--turns out to be the only son of a widow, a Mrs. Foy, our next-
door neighbour to the south. We met her coming out of church on
Sunday morning. She was still crying. Dick took Veronica on ahead,
and I walked part of the way home with them.
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