As for the patient, his decision was immediate. He would get very cross one evening and no one would dare to remind him of it. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her. She pointed hither and yon, smiled and shook her head. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. “Delicious!” she murmured. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. It was really very jolly to talk to a man in this way—who saw the woman in her and did not treat her as a child. “Well, well, Martin.
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