Who would suspect that while I wrote it my sole thought was of You ?'" "So far, so good.

This woman at least piqued my curiosity.

And what peculiar ink," he thought.

It was myrtle green, very thin, very pale.
With his finger-nail he detached some of the fine dust of rice powder, perfumed with heliotrope, clinging to the seal of the letters.
"She must be blonde," he went on, examining the tint of the powder, "for it isn't the 'Rachel' shade that brunettes use.

Now up to that point everything had been going nicely, but then and there I spoiled it.