But Dahlia wrote, crying out her agony at the torture.

Possibly your nervously organized natures require a modification of the method.
Edward now found himself able to conduct a correspondence.

He despatched the following:-- "My Dear Dahlia,--Of course I cannot expect you to be aware of the bewildering occupations of a country house, where a man has literally not five minutes' time to call his own; so I pass by your reproaches.

My father has gone at last.

He has manifested an extraordinary liking for my society, and I am to join him elsewhere -- perhaps run over to Paris (your city)--but at present for a few days I am my own master, and the first thing I do is to attend to your demands: not to write 'two lines,' but to give you a good long letter.
"What on earth makes you fancy me unwell?
You know I am never unwell.