She would write and ask him for something--for what?
A book, a paper--the _New Monthly_, and she must have some particular reason.
She sat down to write, and pressed her fingers upon her throbbing eyes in the effort to summon a particular reason.

It was as far from her as ever when the maid knocked and came in with a note from Kendal asking them to go to see Miss Rehan in "As You Like It" that evening -- a note fragrant of tobacco, not an hour old.
"You needn't wait, Jessie," she said.

"I'll send an answer later;" and the maid had hardly left the room before Janet was sobbing silently and helplessly with her head on the table.

As the day passed however, Elfrida's conduct seemed less unforgivable, and by dinner-time she was able to talk of it with simple wonder, which became more tolerant still in the course of the evening, when she discovered that Kendal was as ignorant and as astonished as they themselves.
"She will write," Janet said hopefully; but a week passed and Elfrida did not write.

A settled disquietude began to make itself felt between the Cardiffs.