turned, with a short laugh, her novel held in both hands behind her back,
one finger holding the place. A letter dropped from it. Septimus picked it
up and handed it to her. It bore an Italian stamp and the Naples postmark.

"Yes. That's from him," she said resentfully. "I've not had a letter for a
week, and now he writes to say he has gone to Naples on account of his
health. You had better let me go, my good Septimus; if I stay here much
longer I'll be talking slush and batter. I've got things on my nerves."

"Why don't you talk to Zora?" he suggested. "She is so wonderful."

"She's the last person in the world that must know anything. Do you
understand? The very last."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," he replied ruefully.

"She doesn't know anything about Mordaunt Prince. She must never know.
Neither must mother. They don't often talk much about the family; but
they're awfully proud of it. Mother's people date from before Noah, and
they look down on the Oldrieves because they sprang up like mushrooms just
after the Flood. Prince's real name is Huzzle, and his father kept a boot
shop. I don't care a hang, because he's a gentleman, but they would."

"But yet you're going to marry him. They must know sooner or later. They
ought to know."

"Time enough when I'm married. Then nothing can be done and nothing can be
said."

"Have you ever thought whether it wouldn't be well to give him up?" said