I promised to let you know in the spring when you came back from
South America where I was. I did not think I would have to do it,
but here I am in Philadelphia with my father's sisters. I do not
know just how long for, but a month, anyhow. It is very quiet, but
charming. I have the room that was my father's when he was young,
and look out of the window like he must have. If you should come to
Philadelphia my aunts ask me to say that they would be glad to have
you for dinner. This is how you get here....

Very sincerely,

LINDA CONDON.

She walked to a street crossing, where she dropped the envelope into
a letter-box on a lamppost, and returned to find Arnaud Hallet
waiting for her. He said:

"Everyone agrees I'm serious, but actually you are worse than the
Assembly." They went through the dining-room to the garden, and sat
on the stone step of a deep window. It was quite late, perhaps
eleven o'clock, and the fireflies, slowly rising into the night, had
vanished. Linda was cool and remote and grave, silently repeating
and weighing the phrases of her letter to Pleydon.

She realized that Arnaud Hallet was coming to like her a very great
deal; but she gave this only the slightest attention. She liked him,
really, and that dismissed him from serious consideration. Anyhow,
in spite of the perfection of his manner, Arnaud's careless dress
displeased her: his shoes and the shoulders of his coat were
perpetually dusty, and his hair, growing scant, was always ruffled.