It seemed to him remarkable that a mature and experienced
man could write such a letter.
At last he got up, went to his writing-table, and sat down. Still he
hesitated for a minute; then he dipped his pen and wrote.
When he had finished and directed it, he went back to the fire. He had
an hour yet in which to think and think before he need dress. He had
promised to dine with Mrs. Stapleton at half-past seven. He had a
touch of headache, and perhaps might sleep it off.
_Chapter XII_
I
Lady Laura crossed the road by Knightsbridge Barracks and turned again
homewards through the Park.
It was one of those days that occasionally fall in late February which
almost cheer the beholder into a belief that spring has really begun.
Overhead the sky was a clear pale blue, flecked with summer-looking
clouds, gauzy and white; beneath, the whole earth was waking drowsily
from a frost so slight as only to emphasize the essential softness of
the day that followed: the crocuses were alight in the grass, and an
indescribable tint lay over all that had life, like the flush in the
face of an awakening child. But these days are too good to last, and
Lady Laura, who had looked at the forecast of a Sunday paper, had
determined to take her exercise immediately after church.
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