"To Miss Daphne Bretton," began the young voice as one quotes some precious-memoried phrase. "While your blessed letter completely relieves mind it cannot unfortunately relieve certain distressing complications of——" As though breaking its way through lips turned suddenly to ice the sweet enunciation began quite palpably to crisp around the edges of its words. "Certain distressing complications of this most unhappy situation. Forwarding to you all love and confidence am yet tied hand and foot against immediate action. Letter follows.
"T. D."
"Which being interpreted?" questioned her father. 92
"Which being interpreted," rallied Daphne, "is academic for nothing doing.——"
"U—m—m," mused her father, "and what does 'T. D.' stand for?"
"'Teacher-Dear,'" flushed Daphne. "It was just a sort of a joke between us. I never somehow quite got round to calling him 'John.'"
As though lost in the most abstract reflection Jaffrey Bretton cocked his head on one side.
"It's a good telegram," he said.
"Oh, a perfectly good telegram," acquiesced Daphne. With a curiously old gesture of finality she turned aside.
"So in this fashion ends passion," she murmured.