over the letter, wondering if she could say any more, and
then a sudden inspiration came to her. She added a postscript:

"I am spending the money you left with me. It is a great comfort."

This was not strictly true, but she made up her mind that it should
become true before the day was out.

Far longer did she take over her letter to the German doctor--indeed,
she made three drafts of it, being so pitifully anxious to say just the
right thing, neither too much nor too little, which might favourably
incline him to his prisoner patient.

All the time she was writing this second letter she felt as if the
Censors were standing by her, frowning, picking out a sentence here, a
sentence there. She would have liked to say something of the time she
had spent at Weimar, but she dared not do so; perhaps if she said
anything of the kind her letter might not get through.

There was nothing Mrs. Otway desired to say which the sternest Censor
could have found fault with in either country, but the poor soul did not
know that. Still, even so, she wrote a very charming letter of
gratitude--so charming, indeed, and so admirably expressed, that when
the Medical Superintendent at last received it, he said to himself, "The
gracious lady writer of this letter must be partly German. No
Englishwoman could have written like this!"

There was one more letter to write, but Mrs. Otway found no difficulty
in expressing in few sentences her warm gratitude to her new friend at
Arlington Street.

She put the three letters in a large envelope--the one for the German
hospital carefully addressed according to the direction at the top of
the Medical Superintendent's letter, but open as she had been told to
leave it. On chance, for she was quite ignorant whether the postage
should be prepaid, she put a twopenny-halfpenny stamp on the letter, and
then, having done that, fastened down the big envelope and addressed it
to Mrs. Gaunt, at 20, Arlington Street.

Then she took another envelope out of her drawer--that containing Major
Guthrie's bank-notes. There, in with them, was still the postcard he had
written to her from France, immediately after the landing of the
Expeditionary Force. She looked at the clearly-written French
sentence--the sentence in which the writer maybe had tried to convey
something of his yearning for her. Taking the india-rubber band off the
notes, she put one into her purse. She was very sorry now that she
hadn't done as he h