THE MORNING AFTER Events had somewhat hurried me in the two days since my arrival at Jefferson Barracks, but on the morning following the awkward ending of my match with Orme I had both opportunity and occasion to take stock of myself and of my plans.

The mails brought me two letters, posted at Wallingford soon after my departure; one from Grace Sheraton and one from my mother.

The first one was--what shall I say?
Better perhaps that I should say nothing, save that it was like Grace Sheraton herself, formal, correct and cold.

It was the first written word I had ever received from my fiancee, and I had expected--I do not know what.

At least I had thought to be warmed, comforted, consoled in these times of my adversity.