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“Virgil,” said Miss Vulliamy. “Unless you write to her to-day, I won’t marry you.”

“But——”

“That’s flat,” said Sarah. “I mean what I say. After all this time, to let that poor girl see our engagement in the paper and nurse her sorrow without one word of explanation or regret.... I confess I’m disgusted. No honourable man——”

“I’m not an honourable man,” said Pardoner. “I’m a loathsome and venomous worm. Ask Mrs. Closeley Dore.”

“You will write to her now,” said Sarah. “You will send for a sheet of notepaper and write to her now—in the lounge. I’ll help you.”

By the time the document was settled, it was a quarter to four.

My Dear June,

Possibly by now you will have seen the announcement of my engagement in the papers. Had I been able, I should have wished to tell you of it myself, but a recent bereavement has not only kept me in London, but has affected my brain. The marriage I am contracting is one which you would have been the first to wish me to make. Indeed, I have often fancied that I could hear your soft voice urging me to go forward. My poor uncle is dead, dear, and I have reason to believe that it was his earnest desire that I should wed his ward. I feel, therefore, that the least I can do is to respect his wishes. Nothing, however, can take away the memory of the many happy, happy hours we have spent together, and I look forward confidently to bringing my wife to see you, as soon as we are settled. I am sure that you and she will get on together, and perhaps one day you will come and stay with us at Palfrey, which we shall make our home.