And most of all she wished that they might never look upon her again.
XXVII
In the house in Cleveland Square, on a morning in late January, Meyer Isaacson read Nigel's letter.
"Villa Androud,
"Luxor, Upper Egypt, Jan. 21st.
"Believe us
"Your friends,
"N. A. and R. A.
"I sign for her. She's still in the garden, where I'm just going."
A letter of success. A letter subtly breathing out from every line the message, "You were wrong." A letter of triumph, devoid of the cruelty that triumph often holds. A letter, surely, for a true friend to rejoice in?