“Oh no! You needn't think of them with Christopher,” Rose said, seriously. “That's just it! He would so completely look after _yours!_ It's _his_, in this regard, that need consideration.”
“Well--I'll consider Christopher's interests,” Edith said, quietly.
She remembered perfectly the letter she had written--which was in an ugly young man's pocket! It had been:
“DEAR CHRISTOPHER,--Do you think you really want me? If you are very sure, I am willing. I don't care for anybody else, so perhaps I can learn to care for you.
“The only thing is, you will spoil me, and they've done that at home already! and Rose says I need a strong hand! So in your interests--” and then it had blown away!
When Rose, after some desultory talk, went back to her room, Edith wrote another letter:
“DEAR CHRISTOPHER,--I know you have made a mistake. I don't care for you--to marry you--a bit, but I like you, oh, a quantity! We have always been such friends, and we always will be, won't we? but not _that_ way.
“Some day you will be very happy with some one else who will suit you better. Then you will know how right I am.
She took this letter down the next morning to put in the bag, but the postman had come and gone. As she stood in the hall holding the letter, Farringdon came up.
“Good morning,” he said. “You've missed the postman? I will be very happy to post it for you on my way to church.”
“Thank you. But if it's on the way to church, I'm going myself, so I needn't trouble you.”
Farringdon merely bowed, without saying anything banal about the absence of trouble. She was demurely conscious beneath his courtesy of the effort he was making to see her handwriting, and she wondered if he thought her refusal rude and a confirmation of his suspicion, or simply casual.
Whatever he thought, it did not prevent the steps as she came out a few hours later in the freshness of white muslin, with her umbrella, prayer-book, and an unobtrusive white envelope in her hands.
They were going together down then drive--under his umbrella--before she quite grasped the situation.
“We seem to be the only ones,” she hazarded.
“Mrs. Manstey has a headache,” Edith said, “but the others--”
“But you--I shouldn't have thought--” She paused, a little embarrassed.