I have not read a word of Spencer since you left, but I have thought a great deal about what you said the last time we did any work together.
"Let me know _positively_ when you are coming back, and let it be as soon as possible, for I must see you.

I am going to see Salvini, in _Othello_, to-night, with Miss Skeat.

He sent me a box, in memory of a little dinner years ago, and I expect him to call.
He _did_ call, but I could not see him.
"I cannot write any more, for it is dinner-time.

Thanks, dear, for your loving letter.

It was sweet of you to post it the same day, for it caught the steamer.
-- In tearing haste, yours, M.
"_P.S._--Answer all my questions, please." There was an indistinctness about the last word; it might have been "your," or "yours." The "tearing haste" resolved itself into ringing the bell to know what time it was, for Margaret had banished the hideous hotel clock from the room.