'DEAR MONICA,—It was more than good of you to write to me, but I have thought things over very carefully since I received your letter, and have come to the conclusion that it is best for me to say at once that I feel now I cannot marry you. Please do not try to see me, and think of me as kindly as you can.
'CHARLIE.'
'Has he told you, Ross? Doesn't he love me any more?' she said, with quivering lips, pathetic In my proud Monica.
'Monica, dear,' said Ross, 'haven't you heard about his wounds?'
'I have heard nothing since I wrote to him till I got this.'
Then very gently Ross told her about the poor blinded eyes while I kneeled beside her and tried to rub a little warmth into her ice cold hands.
'And I expect,' Ross finished up, 'that he wrote like this because he was half mad with pain knowing that he must give you up.'
'Why should he give me up?' she asked.
'Why, Monica, surely you see that it's the only honourable thing he could do, now that he's so helpless; don't you see, dear, every other man would do the same?'
'Then men are cruel,' I burst out. 'They never think the same as women do. If Monica had married him, would he write like that?'