have spoken, I know. It was not honorable, not kind toward him.
You can't reproach me for my want of courage and frankness more
bitterly than I reproach myself!"

"My dear child, I don't reproach you. I only think you might have
written to him."

"I did write."

"Plainly?"

"Yes. I told him in so many words that he was deceiving himself,
and that I could never marry him."

"Plain enough, in all conscience! Having said that, surely you
are not to blame. What are you fretting about now?"

"Suppose my letter has never reached him?"

"Why should you suppose anything of the sort?"

"What I wrote required an answer, Lucy--_asked_ for an answer.
The answer has never come. What is the plain conclusion? My
letter has never reached him. And the _Atalanta_ is expected
back! Richard Wardour is returning to England--Richard Wardour
will claim me as his wife! You wondered just now if I really
meant what I said. Do you doubt it still?"

Mrs. Crayford leaned back absently in her chair. For the first
time since the conversation had begun, she let a question pass