I live at nineteen Adelphi Terrace--in rooms that look down on the most wonderful garden in London.

That, at least, is real.

It is very quiet there to-night, with the city and its continuous hum of war and terror seemingly a million miles away.
Shall we meet at last?
The answer rests entirely with you.

But, believe me, I shall be anxiously waiting to know; and if you decide to give me a chance to explain--to denounce myself to you in person--then a happy man will say good-by to this garden and these dim dusty rooms and follow you to the ends of the earth--aye, to Texas itself! Captain Fraser-Freer is coming down the stairs.

Is this good-by forever, my lady?
With all my soul, I hope not.
YOUR CONTRITE STRAWBERRY MAN..