"Miss Rosser," said Miller, "left a letter for you."
"Why on earth couldn't you tell me so at once!" demanded Colonel
Faversham.
"And a parcel," said Miller.
"Where are they? Where are they?" exclaimed the colonel; and Miller went to the rear of the hall, returning the next moment with a fair-sized, brown-paper parcel in his hand. It obviously contained the crocodile-hide dressing-bag, which had been Bridget's birthday present; the handle, indeed, projected for convenience of transport.
"Would you like to step into the dining-room, colonel?" suggested
Miller, giving him a square envelope.
"Damn the dining-room!" shouted Colonel Faversham, as with trembling fingers he broke the seal, whilst Miller still held the bag. Colonel Faversham did not wait to fix his eye-glass.
"DEAR COLONEL FAVERSHAM" (he read),
"How sorry I am to give you pain, and I know that I am doing so. I cannot possibly marry you, and I have not the courage to say so to your face. Why didn't you understand how hard I tried to tell you this morning—you really might have helped me out! You have always been so very kind. I positively hate to treat you badly. I have put all your presents inside the dressing-bag. Please try to forgive me, although I don't suppose you ever will! If it is any consolation to you, I feel—oh, so miserable!
"Yours sincerely,