“Dear Elsie,” and then paused. He did not in truth know what to say. He knew he was acting shamefully, but he told himself it was folly to sacrifice the happiness of his whole life because a foolish girl had loved him too well.
Again he began “Dear Elsie,” on a fresh note-sheet, and this time continued his letter:
“Dear Elsie: Our interview of last night was very unsatisfactory, and I want to see you again, and I hope we will come to some lasting agreement. I am quite willing to come down handsomely for any supposed wrong I may have done you, and I hope you will act like a sensible girl and accept my proposition. Will you meet me to-night at nine o’clock, on the ridge above Fern Dene? It’s a quiet place, and we can have our talk out there without being interrupted as we were last night. There is always someone about near your house, seemingly. But do act sensibly, and don’t make a row about what can not be helped now.
“Yours sincerely,
“T. H.”
He finished this letter, and then put it in his pocket and walked to the stables, and gave it to his groom. This man was engaged rubbing down a horse when his master appeared, and he seemed quite accustomed to receive such missions.
“Take that over to Miss Wray, Jack,” said young Henderson; “make some excuse—have a pot of beer or something—but give it into her own hands, and no one else’s, and here’s a shilling for the beer.”
“Very well, master,” answered Jack, pocketing the note and the shilling with something between a grin and a nod, and then touching his forelock. “Must I go directly?”
“Yes,” said Henderson, and then he turned away, and went whistling out of the stables with his hands in his pockets.