"P.S. As I sit here writing you the desire seizes me to drop my pen, put on my hat and coat and go to see you. But I can't. There's a dinner on here, and I've got to stay for it. Good night, dear Athalie!
"Clive."
His answer came by return mail as usual:
"Dear Clive,
"Your letter has troubled me so much. If your mother feels that way about me, what are we to do? Is it right for us to see each other?
"It is true that I am not conscious of any wrong in seeing you and in being your friend. I know that I never had an unworthy thought concerning you. And I feel confident that your thoughts regarding our friendship and me are blameless. Where lies the wrong?
"Some aspects of the affair have troubled me lately. Please do not be sensitive and take offence, Clive, if I admit to you that I never have quite reconciled myself to accepting anything from you.
"What I have accepted has been for your own sake—for the pleasure you found in giving, not for my own sake.
"I wanted only your friendship. That was enough—more than enough to make me happy and contented.