She had been accustomed to writing page after page and never pausing.

Since then something seemed to have arisen in her life and to stand between them.
She did not care to tell him of the luxury of Thorpe Castle, the number of visitors, the splendor of the entertainments.
"That will not interest him," she said; "his life is so different." A strange sensation of uneasiness came over her as she remembered how different it was.

So she wrote a letter full of commonplaces, and when Allan Lyster read it he bit his lips in fierce, hot anger.
"She is learning not to care for me already," he said.

"She has never written so coldly to me before." Adelaide bade him to be of good cheer.
"I shall go to the castle at Christmas," she said, "and, rely upon it, Allan, I will find an opportunity of sending for you.

You need not be anxious; there is no possible plea on which she can escape you now.