tted the far less
defensible trip on the river with the hated Fitzroy? It needed no
great penetration to solve this puzzle. Mrs. Devar was afraid of some
development that might happen if the girl visited Hereford that day.
She counted on Medenham being chained to Symon's Yat while Cynthia was
there--consequently she had heard something from Dale that rendered it
eminently necessary that neither he nor Cynthia should be seen in
Hereford on the Sunday. Probably, too, she did not anticipate that
Cynthia would don the haircloth of self-discipline and avoid him
during the whole of the day, since that was what the girl meant by her
allusion to Monday's starting-time.

Perhaps, using a woman's privilege, she might change her mind towards
sunset; meanwhile, it behooved him to visit Hereford and pry into
things there.

Nevertheless, he was a wise lover. Cynthia might dismiss him
graciously to follow his own behests, but it might not please her if
she discovered that he had taken her permission too literally. He
entered the hotel and wrote a letter:

"My dear Miss Vanrenen----" no pretense of "Madam" or other social
formula, but a plain and large "My dear," with the name appended as a
concession to the humbug of life, even in regard to the woman he
loved--"I am going to Hereford, but shall return here for luncheon.
Mrs. Devar's illness is not likely to be lasting, and the view from
the Yat is, if possible, better in the afternoon than in the morning.
In addition to my obvious need of a clean collar, I believe that our
presence in Hereford to-day is not desired. Why? I shall make it my
business to find out. Yours ever sincerely----"

Then he reached a high and stout stone wall of difficulty. Was he to
fall back on the subterfuge of "George Augustus Fitzroy," which, of
course, was his proper signature in law? He disliked this veil of
concealment more and more each instant, but it was manifestly out of
the question that he should sign himself "Medenham," or "George,"
while he had fought several pitched battles at Harrow with classmates
who pined to label him "Augustus," abbreviated. So, greatly daring,
he wrote: "Mercury's Guv'nor," trusting to luck whether or not
Cynthia's classical lore would remind her that Mercury was the son of
Jupiter.

He reread this effusion twice, and was satisfied with it as the herald
of others. "My dear" sounded well; the intimacy of "our presence" was
not overdone; while "yours ever sincerely" wa