any man you didn't love. But if you do love him, little Joan, if
you do--why it just means everything. . . . Baxter's worth
millions. . . ."

But it makes one laugh, my Derek, doesn't it? laugh a little bitterly.
And then after a while I left him, and went down to the boat-house, and
pulled over to our weeping willow. But I couldn't stop there. . . . I
can't try myself too high. I guess I'm a bit weak where you're
concerned, boy--a bit weak. And I've got to go through with this.
It's my job, and one can't shirk one's job. . . . Only sometimes it
seems that one gets saddled with funny jobs, doesn't one? Try to see
my point of view, Derek; try to understand. If it was only me, why,
then, my dear, you know what would be the result. I think it would
kill me if you ever thought I was marrying Mr. Baxter for money for
myself. . . .

And you'll forget me in time, dear lad--at least, I'm afraid you will.
That's foolish, isn't it?--foolish and weak; but I couldn't bear you to
forget me altogether. Just once or twice you'll think of me, and the
Blue Bird that we kept for one day in the roses at Sonning. You'll go
to She who must be obeyed and I hope to God I never meet her. . . .
For I'll hate her, loathe her, detest her.

I'm engaged to Mr. Baxter. I've exacted my full price to the uttermost
farthing. Blandford is saved, or will be on the day I marry him. We
are neither of us under any illusions whatever; the whole thing is on
an eminently business footing. . . . We are to be married almost at
once.

And now, dear, I am going to ask you one of the big things. I don't
want you to answer this letter; I don't want you to plead with me to
change my mind. I daren't let you do it, my man, because, as I said,
I'm so pitifully weak where you are concerned. And I don't know what
would happen if you were to take me in your arms again. Why, the very
thought of it drives me almost mad. . . . Don't make it harder for me,
darling, than it is at present--please, please, don't.

Mr. Baxter is not here now, and I'm just vegetating with the Suttons
until the sale takes place--my sale. They were talking about you at
dinner to-night, and my heart started pounding until I thought they
must have heard it. Do you wonder that I'm frightened of you? Do you
wonder that I ask you not to write?

It's one o'clock, my Derek, and I'm cold--and tired, awful tired. I
feel as if the soul had departed out of me; as if everything wa