"Go on, please."
"In regarding our engagement as impossible.'" You have done that. "In any case, as my parents refuse their consent, all is at an end between us; and I can only beg of you to forget me as soon as possible. Yours truly, Doris Winton.'"
"No—'Yours sincerely.' And I must tell him how awfully sorry I am to have let him think—"
"Your letter begins with that. No more is needed. Put it up, dear, and I will have it posted."
"No,—I'll post it myself." Doris sat gazing at the half-dry page, and a maid came in.
"Please, 'm, you're wanted. A child has got badly hurt—and they don't know what to do."
Details followed, and Mrs. Winton stood up.
"Don't lose the next post," she urged in a low voice. "I'll be back soon."
A pair of dreamy eyes followed her exit, then returned to the letter. Again Doris heard Jane's strident tones and shrieking foolish laughter.
"It can't—can't—be!" she murmured. "I see now that it can't. I must have been mad to think it could. But, oh,—my poor, poor Dick! How will he take it?"