"All right, sonny," I called out. "Bring it along here."
I walked to the door, and the next minute I was being handed an envelope addressed to me at the Tilbury Post-Office in Joyce's handwriting.
"It came the last post yesterday," explained the lad. "We couldn't let you have it until this morning because there wasn't any one to send."
"Well, sit down a moment, Charles," I said; "and I'll just see if there's any answer."
He seated himself on the bench, staring round at everything with obvious interest. With a pleasant feeling of anticipation I slit open the envelope and pulled out its contents.
"CHELSEA,
"Monday.
"DEAREST JAMES,
"It looks rather nice written—doesn't it! I am coming down tomorrow by the train which gets into Tilbury at 2.15. I shall walk across to the Betty and sit there peacefully till you turn up. Whatever stage the work is at, don't be later than 7.30. I shall have supper ready by then—and it will be a supper worth eating. My poor darling, you must be simply starved. I've lots to tell you, James, but it will keep till tomorrow.
"With all my love,