I hope you will find it there.

I don't even know where your room is, Helen, in this beastly hotel." Ronnie considered his postscript; then crossed out "beastly" and substituted "large." But "beastly" still showed, pathetically, beneath the line.

And, by-and-by, the heart of Ronnie's wife, from which all clouds had suddenly rolled away, understood it, and wept over it, and kissed it; and thought "beastly" a dear word! It was so quaintly like Ronnie to substitute "large" for "beastly." All clouds had rolled away, before Helen read the note; for this is what had happened.
* * * * * Ronnie had excused himself when lunch was half over.
Helen let him go, trying to act on Dr.Dick's advice not to worry him by seeming to watch or follow him.
So she sat on alone, finishing luncheon, and thus did not see Ronnie walk out of the front door, carrying his bag.
Soon afterwards she passed into the hall, and sat dipping into the papers and thinking over her talk with Dick.
Presently a page stepped up to her with a letter on a salver.
Her heart stood still as she saw the stamp, the post-mark, and the writing.

It was from Aubrey Treherne, forwarded from Hollymead.
Helen was sorely tempted for a moment to burn it unread.

She had suffered so much through a former letter in that handwriting.