I was all the morning writing it.

I told myself that if I were really thinking of you, and not of myself, a letter would be better than nothing.

Marks on paper mean something to you." He paused.

"They never did to me." Hilda smiled up at him beautifully and put her hand on his sleeve.

"Oh, Bartley! Did you write to me?
Why didn't you telephone me to let me know that you had?
Then I wouldn't have come." Alexander slipped his arm about her.