dear--I'm afraid this address is going to give you rather a
shock, and I'm feeling very guilty. I'm running away, and I haven't even
stopped to say good-bye. I can't help it. I know it's weak and cowardly,
but I simply can't help it. I stood it for a day or two, and then I
saw that it was no good. (Thank you for leaving me alone and not coming
round to see me. Nobody else but you would have done that. But then,
nobody ever has been or ever could be so understanding as you.)"

Ginger found himself compelled at this point to look at the photograph
again.

"There was too much in New York to remind me. That's the worst of being
happy in a place. When things go wrong you find there are too many
ghosts about. I just couldn't stand it. I tried, but I couldn't. I'm
going away to get cured--if I can. Mr. Faucitt is over in England, and
when I went down to Mrs. Meecher for my letters, I found one from him.
His brother is dead, you know, and he has inherited, of all things,
a fashionable dress-making place in Regent Street. His brother was
Laurette et Cie. I suppose he will sell the business later on, but, just
at present, the poor old dear is apparently quite bewildered and that
doesn't seem to have occurred to him. He kept saying in his letter how
much he wished I was with him, to help him, and I was tempted and ran.
Anything to get away from the ghosts and have something to do. I don't
suppose I shall feel much better in England, but, at least, every street
corner won't have associations. Don't ever be happy anywhere, Ginger.
It's too big a risk, much too big a risk.

"There was a letter from Elsa Doland, too. Bubbling over with affection.
We had always been tremendous friends. Of course, she never knew
anything about my being engaged to Gerald. I lent Fillmore the money to
buy that piece, which gave Elsa her first big chance, and so she's very
grateful. She says, if ever she gets the opportunity of doing me a good
turn... Aren't things muddled?

"And there was a letter from Gerald. I was expecting one, of course,
but... what would you have done, Ginger? Would you have read it? I sat
with it in front of me for an hour, I should think, just looking at the
envelope, and then... You see, what was the use? I could guess exactly
the sort of thing that would be in it, and reading it would only have
hurt a lot more. The thing was done, so why bother about explanations?
What good are explanations, anyway? They don't help. They don't