And so on through pages of horseplay; his relief on ascertaining the truth and learning his mistake, his regret at not finding me at home, closing with a dinner invitation.
It was at Geneva, Switzerland, that I received a long, overflowing letter, full of flamboyant oddities, written from London.

Two or three hours later came a telegram.

"Burn letter.

Blot it from your memory.
Susie is dead." How much of melancholy lay hidden behind the mask of his humour it would be hard to say.

His griefs were tempered by a vein of stoicism.