The Golden Silence

								

runner, as well as the length of his limbs, had given him in
undergraduate days).



     "Dear Legs,



     "I've often thought about you in the last nine years, and hope

     you've occasionally thought of me, though somehow or other we

     haven't written. I don't know whether you've travelled much, or

     whether England has absorbed all your interests. Anyhow, can't you

     come out here and make me a visit--the longer it is, the more I

     shall be pleased. This country is interesting if you don't know it,

     and fascinating if you do. My place is rather nice, and I should

     like you to see it. Still better, I should like to see you. Do come

     if you can, and come soon. I should enjoy showing you my garden at

     its best. It's one of the things I care for most, but there are

     other things. Do let me introduce you to them all. You can be as

     quiet as you wish, if you wish. I'm a quiet sort myself, as you may

     remember, and North Africa suits me better than London or Paris. I

     haven't changed for the worse I hope, and I'm sure you haven't, in

     any way.



     "You can hardly realize how much pleasure it will give me if you'll

     say 'yes' to my proposal.



                                          "Yours as ever



                                          "NEVILL CAIRD, alias 'Wings,'"
Not a word of "the case," though, of course, he must know all about
it--even in Algiers. Stephen's gratitude went out to his old friend,
and his heart felt warmer because of the letter and the invitation. Many
people, even with the best intentions, would have contrived to say the
wrong thing in these awkward circumstances. There would have been some
veiled allusion to the engagement; either silly, well-meant
congratulations and good wishes, or else a stupid hint of advice to get
out of a bad business while there was time. But Caird wrote as he might
have written if there had been no case, and no entanglement; and acting
on his first impulse, Stephen telegraphed an acceptance, saying that he
would start for Algiers in two or three days. Afterwards, when he had
given himself time to think, he did not regret his decision. Indeed, he
was glad of it, and glad that he had made it so soon.
A few weeks ago, a sudden break in his plans would have caused him a
great deal of trouble. There would have been dozens of luncheons and
dinners to escape from, and twice as many letters to write. But nowadays
he had few invitations and scarcely any letters to write, except those
of business, and an occasional line to Margot. People were willing to be
neglected by him, willing to let him alone, for now that he had
quarrelled with Northmorland and the Duchess, and had promised to marry
an impossible woman, he must be gently but firmly taught to expect
little of Society in future.
Stephen broke the news to his man that he was going away, alone, and
though the accomplished Molton had regrets, they were not as poignant as