"It isn't right," said Madame, decidedly. "You must let him know where you are."
"Why? I never know where he is."
"That doesn't make any difference. Two wrongs never make one perfect right. If you do your part, things will be only half wrong, instead of entirely so."
"I'll do whatever you think best," said Edith, humbly. "I came to you because I could think for myself no longer. I'll write him a note before luncheon, if you say so, and post it this afternoon."
"I do say so."
Therefore luncheon waited for a few moments, to Alden's secret impatience, until Edith came down with her note. She offered it to Madame, doubtfully. "Want to see it?"
"No, dear. I'll trust you."
She sealed it with shamefaced gladness that Madame had not availed herself of the opportunity. She was quite sure that her counsellor would not approve of the few formal lines which were all she had been able to make herself write.
On the Way to the Post-Office
After luncheon, when Alden assisted her into Madame's decrepit phaeton, and urged the superannuated horse into a wildly exciting pace of three miles an hour, she asked to be driven to the post-office.