‘Roger!’ he said. ‘I’m so sleepy. I don’t know what’s come over me.’ He seemed to see the letter he held, and went on, in an absent way, ‘Wasn’t it rather too bad of her not to wait till she had seen me? So long—it’s three years since I began to wait for her and work for her. But as soon as she heard the first whisper—well, I did write and tell her what I’d done, and said I would go up and see her to-night, you know—yes, to-night. But she never waited. She flung me off,’ and he threw out his arms. ‘She made haste to do it. She must have been glad to do it! There’s something in her letter which says so. See!’ He held it out to Roger. ‘What a lot of disagreeable things you’ve had to do for me lately!’ he went on. ‘Good Lord! how tired I am! I never was so tired in my life. I can’t imagine the reason of it.’
Roger, deferring for a moment his intention of making Michael go to bed, stopped to read the letter, which ran:—
‘My dear Michael,
‘I received your letter this morning, and I am sorry to say I cannot approve of what you have done. Even before I got it, I had been thinking for some time about our engagement, and wondering if it had ever been a wise one. During these three days that you have not been here, I have had ample time to consider the subject. Even if nothing further had happened, I should have written as I now do; but I do not disguise from you that the manner in which you have yourself cut off every prospect of advancement strengthens my resolution. These things are best done promptly. It saves pain to all concerned.
‘As there is now evidently no prospect of our being married within any definite time, I wish our engagement to cease. I desire this both on your account and my own. In addition to the reasons already stated, I do not think it would be for your happiness to continue it, and I am quite sure it would not be for mine. I shall be glad of a line from you when convenient, to say that you consent to my proposal; and with every wish for your happiness and prosperity, I remain,
‘Your sincere friend,
‘Magdalen Wynter.’
‘There’s a specimen of elegant composition!’ exclaimed Michael, suddenly sitting upright, and laughing harshly. ‘It could not have been more proper if she had written it at school, and the head governess had corrected it. What a blessed thing it is when people know their own minds, and can command plain English in which to make them known! Only it’s a pity that they should take three years to learn what they do want, or whom they don’t want.’ He gave a disagreeable little laugh at his own pleasantry[pleasantry], and then rose. ‘If you’ll go down, Roger, I will now change these things, and join you directly. But it’s lucky I need not go to Balder Hall, for I feel more and more tired every minute.’
‘Take off your things, by all means,’ said Roger, gravely; ‘but you must not come down. You must go to bed.’
‘To bed!’ exclaimed Michael, contemptuously. ‘A man go to bed because he’s had a long ride in the wet and cold, and finds rather a chilly letter to greet him on his return! I am not such an ass.’