This species of madness cannot properly be attributed to his illness, though its accent might be. MANNING,—I find it very difficult to answer your letter. I told him instantly and shamelessly that the play was going to be worth ten thousand pounds. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. She stepped backwards. Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. “I am under police surveillance,” she said.
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