He gave a dissatisfied growl as he finished reading it. 75 Not a very eloquent epistle. There was so much more which he wanted to say, but did not dare to. He folded it again and thrust it into an envelope; then he addressed it and laid it beside that other on his desk, comparing the two handwritings with complacence.
Not in the least alike! Nobody would ever suspect that they had been written by the same person.
He rang for Driver and gave him the unstamped envelope. “This is what I want you to post in Paris. Mind you put enough stamps on. You’d better have it weighed.”
“Yes, sir.” Driver looked at the other letter. “And––is that for the post too, sir?”
Micky put his hand behind him with a guilty gesture.
“No; I’ll post that myself,” he said, and he went out then and there into the cold night and did so.
As it dropped into the letter-box Micky looked up at the stars and sighed.
What the dickens could he have done to make her so distant? At any rate he would let her see that he was not to be so easily snubbed. If she didn’t answer his letter he would go boldly round to Elphinstone Road, and stay there till he saw her.
He was half way to bed before he remembered that he had promised to go to the Delands that evening. He stopped short with his necktie half undone and swore.
What the deuce would they think of him?