F. The evenings were dulcet and soft. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. So I had to buy out his interest, and it pinched me dreadfully to do it. It made me wake up, and there I lay thinking of you, spending your nights up here all alone, and no one to look after you. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score.
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