The butler and the mail man exchanged a word of greeting, then the former closed the door.

Collins descended the stairs, blinking, with sleepy dissipated eyes.
"Give me all the mail," he said, extending a tremulous hand.
"There's a letter for madam--" "Give it to me!" Reluctantly the butler delivered the letter to him.
"You needn't mention my having received all the mail," Collins growled.
"If madam asks whether there was any mail for her tell her there wasn't any.

And don't forget what I say!" The butler stared after him as he climbed up the stairs and disappeared into his own room.
Seated on the edge of his bed, Collins glanced through his personal mail then tore open the letter to his wife.

It was in a familiar handwriting and the contents brought no look of surprise to his face.

But he read it through half a dozen times, as if to sear it into his memory.
Presently he dressed and went out for a stroll, drinking copious draughts of the bracing morning air.