It was his bedtime when Colonel Mallett stirred in his holland-covered armchair and stood up.
"Thank you, my son," he said simply; they shook hands and separated; the father to sleep, if he could; the son to go out into the summer night, walk to his nearest club, and write his daily letter to the woman he loved: "Dear, it is not at all bad in town--not that murderous, humid heat that you think I'm up against; and you must stop reproaching yourself for enjoying the delicious breezes in the Adirondacks.
Women don't know what a jolly time men have in town.

Follows the chronical of this August day: "I had your letter; that is breeze enough for me; it was all full of blue sky and big white clouds and the scent of Adirondack pines.
Isn't it jolly for you and Kathleen to be at the Varicks' camp! And what a jolly crowd you've run into.
"I note what you say about your return to the Berkshires, and that you expect to be at Berkshire Pass Inn with the motor on Monday.
Give my love to Naida; I know you three and young Montross will have a bully tour through the hill country.
"I also note your red-pencil cross at the top of the page--which always gives me, as soon as I open a letter of yours, the assurance that all is still well with you and that victory still remains with you.

Thank God! Stand steady, little girl, for the shadows are flying and the dawn is ours.
"After your letter, breakfast with father--a rather silent one.

Then he went down-town in his car and I walked to the studio.

It's one of those stable-like studios which decorate the cross-streets in the 50's, but big enough to work in.
"A rather bothersome bit of news: the Trust Company reconsiders its commission; and I have three lunettes and three big mural panels practically completed.