him this shameful, this merciless trick!

And just as his absorption in work had helped him hitherto in the
situation, so now this new excitement of business and the world coloured
his everyday demeanour and conversation; wrapped the Robinsons, too, in
the whirl of busy interests, and carried him safely towards the
inevitable time when he must seriously discuss the date of the wedding.

XXVIII

One morning early, towards the end of May, Alice sat down at her desk,
and wrote the following brief letter to Mr. Shanner.

"MY DEAR FRIEND,--I owe you an acknowledgment. When you ventured
to raise the question of the wisdom of my engagement to Mr. Wyndham, you
were right in one respect. He is in every way a man of honour, and I
have nothing against him. But, as the time goes by, it grows upon me
more and more that he and I have made a mistake, as you were first to
see, and that we are not suited to each other. His world and his ideas
of life are not mine, and I have decided that it is wiser for me not to
attempt to adapt myself to them. I recognise this before it is too late,
and I have determined, not lightly, but after full and serious
consideration, to draw back. I promised you that I should let you know
if ever I arrived at such a conclusion. I now carry out my promise."

She directed it to his office, carefully marking it "Personal and
Confidential." Shortly after noon she was startled by the rat-tat of a
telegraph boy. "Approve of your decision with all my heart. Please
remember that I am the first applicant for the privilege." Such was the
answer he had flashed back the moment her letter had reached him, and
the perusal of it gave her the satisfaction that accompanies the
realisation step by step of an elaborate purpose. "So be it," she
exclaimed. "To-day I shall ask for my release."

Wyndham was expecting her to join him at the studio. They were to dine
together, then go to a Paderewski recital. But now she decided she would
not go. What good to face him personally? Besides, it was easier to feel
that she had already seen him for the last time. She went back to her
desk, and began the laborious composition of a long letter. On and on
she wrote, breaking off only to join her mother at lunch, and returning
to her desk at the earliest moment. She had covered several sheets, when
brusquely she changed her mind. Perhaps this was not really fair to him,
and, besides, he might feel he ought to come to the house