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Patricia stared at the letter.

“I’m dazed,” she said. “Dazed. I owe you more than my life, yet—I can’t thank you, Simon. It—it won’t go into words.... I’ll pray for you every night: but, then, that’s nothing. I’ve done that for months. The queer thing is I feel more proud than grateful—proud of ... my man....”

There was a long silence.

Then—

“Thank you, Pat,” said Simon tenderly. He rose to his feet. “And now let’s go an’ have a dance.”

The girl rose and led the way to the door.

Arrived there, she closed it carefully and swung about.

“Simon!” Her hands were upon his shoulders, and her face three inches away. “Simon, you terrify me! What have you done? From the moment you left me at Goodwood, I’ve been frightened to death. When first I saw you that day, there was something wrong. Then you behaved so strangely—as if you didn’t care. Suddenly you promised me the letter, as one promises sweets to a child. And now—here it is. ... Simon, for God’s sake tell me! What have you done?”

Simon patted her arm.