at it will be impossible for me
to see you next Sunday. All day I shall be occupied. My eldest sister
is leaving London, and Sunday will be my last day with her, perhaps for
a long time. Please do not think that I make light of your kindness.
When I am settled in my new life, I hope to be able to let you know how
it suits me.--Sincerely yours,

MONICA MADDEN.'

In a postscript she mentioned her new address. It was written in very
small characters--perhaps an unpurposed indication of the misgiving
with which she allowed herself to pen the words.

Two days went by, and again a letter from Widdowson was delivered,

'DEAR MISS MADDEN--My chief purpose in writing again so soon is to
apologize sincerely for my behaviour on Tuesday evening. It was quite
unjustifiable. The best way of confessing my fault is to own that I had
a foolish dislike of your walking in the streets unaccompanied at so
late an hour. I believe that any man who had newly made your
acquaintance, and had thought as much about you as I have, would have
experienced the same feeling. The life which made it impossible for you
to see friends at any other time of the day was so evidently unsuited
to one of your refinement that I was made angry by the thought of it.
Happily it is coming to an end, and I shall be greatly relieved when I
know that you have left the house of business.

'You remember that we are to be friends. I should be much less than
your friend if I did not desire for you a position very different from
that which necessity forced upon you. Thank you very much for the
promise to tell me how you like the new employment and your new
friends. Shall you not henceforth be at leisure on other days besides
Sunday? As you will now be near Regent's Park, perhaps I may hope to
meet you there some evening before long. I would go any distance to see
you and speak with you for only a few minutes.

'Do forgive my impertinence, and believe me, dear Miss Madden.-- Ever
yours,

EDMUND WIDDOWSON.'

Now this undoubtedly might be considered a love-letter, and it was the
first of its kind that Monica had ever received. No man had ever
written to her that he was willing to go 'any distance' for the reward
of looking on her face. She read the composition many times, and with
many thoughts. It did not enchant her; presently she felt it to be dull
and prosy--anything but the ideal of a love-letter, even at this early
stage.

The remarks concerning Widdowson ma