Monday, if all goes well. We go to Switzerland for a while, and then to
Venice, which people tell me is often very pleasant in August. We shall
be there by the first week in August, and Mr. Wallace tells me he hears
from you that your sister, Madame de Châteauvieux, will be there about
the same time. I forgot to ask you yesterday, but, if you think she would
not object to it, would you give me a little note introducing me to her?
All that I have heard of her makes me very anxious to know her, and she
would not find me a troublesome person! We shall hardly, I suppose, meet
again before I start. If not, please remember that my friends can always
find me on Sunday afternoon.--Yours very truly, ISABEL BRETHERTON.'

Kendal's hand closed tightly over the note. Then he put it carefully back
into its envelope, and walked away with his hands behind him and the note
in them, to stare out of window at the red roofs opposite.

'That is like her,' he murmured to himself; 'I wound and hurt her: she
guesses I shall suffer for it, and, by way of setting up the friendly
bond again, next day, without a word, she asks me to do her a kindness!
Could anything be more delicate, more gracious!'

Kendal never had greater difficulty in fixing his thoughts to his work
than that morning, and at last, in despair, he pushed his book aside, and
wrote an answer to Miss Bretherton, and, when that was accomplished, a
long letter to his sister. The first took him longer than its brevity
seemed to justify. It contained no reference to anything but her request.
He felt a compulsion upon him to treat the situation exactly as she had
done, but, given this limitation, how much cordiality and respect could
two sides of letterpaper be made to carry with due regard to decorum and
grammar?