At last she wrote to him:
When are you coming, Jacques? I miss you so! Do not be afraid. Friends need be none the less friends because they love each other. Don't you trust me?
It was her custom to send her baby once or twice in the week to visit the invalid, Mrs. Benoix. She gave her note to the nurse to carry.
"It is to ask the doctor for a prescription," she explained. "If he is not there, it will not be necessary to leave the note. You understand?"
It was her first lie, and she told it badly, flushing and stammering. Mahaly understood only too well. The woman seemed oddly reluctant; tried once again to say what she had to say, and failed.
When she had gone, Kate felt in the reaction as if her heart had been released from some heavy weight. "Why haven't I written before?" she thought. "Shyness, pride between people who love—what a silly thing! He shall see how strong I am; how much better and truer a friend, now that we know."
To prove the purely friendly nature of her intentions, she donned her most becoming dress, in case he chose to bring his answer in person.
Mahaly brought the answer, however, written across a leaf of a prescription-pad:
I do not dare to come. It is myself I cannot trust. Forgive me!
It was her one love-letter from Jacques Benoix. She wore it out with reading.