Yielding, as often, to the moment's impulse, she seized her pen, and wrote hurriedly—
"P.S.—Don't mind too much! I'm not worth it. I shall never, never forget our time together!"
Then she blotted the page, folded and thrust it in, addressed and stamped the envelope, and ran at her best speed to the nearest pillar-box.
Just in time! The postman was emptying it. She gave him the letter, and walked back with a dragging step.
"That is done!" she murmured, and she dropped into an arm-chair, suddenly nerveless. Nothing seemed left that was worth doing. Dick Maurice had passed out of her life; and all looked dead.
"How will he take it? Oh, how will he take it?" she asked again and again. "Will it break his heart? If only there wasn't that dreadful Jane! I think I could put up with other things. But—Jane!—Jane!"
Mrs. Winton presently found her thus, pale and listless.
"The letter is gone," was all Doris said.
Mrs. Winton stooped to kiss her forehead, and the girl moved restlessly aside.
"Don't, please!" she entreated. "I'm so tired! Mother, you won't like it, but I put a few more words. I asked him not to mind too much."