Set in Silver

								

real Ellaline to scrape my ashes off the smoking altar.
It's all very well to make fun of the thing like that. But to be
serious--and goodness knows it's serious enough--what's to be done,
little mother? Ellaline has (because I insisted) given me till to-morrow
morning to answer. I explained that my consent must depend on your
consent. So that's why I haven't had anything to eat since breakfast. I
rushed home to write this immense letter to you, and get it off to catch
the post. It will arrive in the morning with your coffee and petits
pains--how I wish I were in its place! You can take half an hour to
make up your mind (I'm sure with your lightning wits you wouldn't ask
longer to decide the fate of the Great Powers of Europe) and then
telegraph me simply "Yes," or "No." I will understand.
For my own sake, naturally, I should prefer "No." That goes unsaid,
doesn't it? I should then be relieved of responsibility; for even
Ellaline, knowing that you and I are all in all to each other, could
hardly expect me to fly in your face, just to please her. But, on the
other hand, if you did think I could do this dreadful thing without
thereby becoming myself a Dreadful Thing, it would be a glorious relief
to pay my debt of gratitude to Ellaline, yes, and even over-pay it,
perhaps. One likes to over-pay a debt that's been owing a long time, for
it's like adding an accumulation of interest that one's creditor never
expected to get.
When, gasping after the first shock, I pleaded that I'd do anything
else, make any other sacrifice for Ellaline's sake, except this one,
she flashed out (with the odd shrewdness which lurks in her childishness
like a bright little garter-snake darting its head from a bed of
violets), saying that was always the way with people. They were
invariably ready to do for their best friends, to whom they were
grateful, anything on earth except the only thing wanted.
Well, I had no answer to make; for it's true, isn't it? And then
Ellaline sobbed dreadfully, clutching at me with little, hot, trembling
hands, crying that she'd counted on me, that she'd been sure, after
all my promises, I wouldn't fail her. She'd felt so safe with me! Are
you surprised I hadn't the heart to refuse? I confess, dear, that if I
were quite alone in the world (though the world wouldn't be a world
without you) I should certainly have grovelled and consented then and
there.
She says she won't close her eyes to-night, and I dare say she won't, in
which case she'll be as pathetic as a broken flower to-morrow. I don't
think I shall sleep much either, wondering what your verdict will be.
I really haven't the remotest idea whether it will be Yes or No. Usually
I imagine that I can pretty well guess what your opinion is likely to
be, but I can't this time. The thing to decide upon is in itself so
fantastic, so monstrous, that one moment I tell myself you won't even
consider it. The next minute I remember what a dear little "crank" you