Page:The Yellow Book - 07.djvu/184

, Gretchen. The only thing I could do would be to—to send my love." Her voice faltered. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind always putting that in, at the end, after the other things, you know?"

"Yes. What am I to say?"

"Just say"—the colour flamed in her cheeks again—"I love you, Noel." She turned her head away sharply, and looked out of the window.

Gretchen still stood beside her, motionless.

"Cecily," she said at last, in a low voice, "think—do you really want me to do this? I won't if you"

"Yes," she answered brokenly. "If I could do it myself, of course I—I would rather—but I can't! And after all, it won't matter so very much, will it, Gretchen?" She turned to her like a child, imploring to be reassured by some Wise and grown-up person. "I shall mean all the things you say."

"What about the handwriting?" asked Gretchen. Her voice sounded flat and wearied. "Has he seen yours?"

"No. I have never written to him. There has been no occasion, you see, and he doesn't know yours."

Miss Verrol went to the door. As she reached it, she paused with her hand on the lock.

"Remember, you wish it," she said, turning her head over her shoulder to look at Cecily.

The girl rose from the window seat and came towards her. Her soft hair was all disordered, her cheeks were flushed, and her pretty blue eyes were still wet.

"Yes; you are very good to me, Gretchen," she began timidly, putting out her arms. But Gretchen shrank away hastily. "Mind—you will crumple this again," she said.

Thus