--Yours sincerely,
Sylvia Bailey.
That was all, but it was enough. Hitherto she had evidently been--hateful
thought--what the matrons of Market Dalling called "coming on" in her
manner to Count Paul; henceforth she would be cold and distant to him.
She put her note into an envelope, addressed it, and went downstairs
again. It was very late, but M. Polperro was still up. The landlord never
went to bed till each one of his clients was safe indoors.
"Will you kindly see that the Comte de Virieu gets this to-night?" she
said briefly. And then, as the little man looked at her with some
surprise, "It is to tell the Count that I cannot ride to-morrow morning.
It is late, and I am very tired; sleepy, too, after the long motoring
expedition I took this afternoon!" She tried to smile.
M. Polperro bowed.
"Certainly, Madame. The Count shall have this note the moment he returns
from the Casino. He will not be long now."
But the promises of Southerners are pie-crust. Doubtless M. Polperro
meant the Count to have the note that night, but he put it aside and
forgot all about it.
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