Perhaps, then, it might very
naturally come about that--but I dismissed this very rational
supposition as swiftly as I was able.
CHAPTER XI
THE MORNING AFTER
Events had somewhat hurried me in the two days since my arrival at
Jefferson Barracks, but on the morning following the awkward ending of
my match with Orme I had both opportunity and occasion to take stock of
myself and of my plans. The mails brought me two letters, posted at
Wallingford soon after my departure; one from Grace Sheraton and one
from my mother. The first one was--what shall I say? Better perhaps that
I should say nothing, save that it was like Grace Sheraton herself,
formal, correct and cold. It was the first written word I had ever
received from my fiancee, and I had expected--I do not know what. At
least I had thought to be warmed, comforted, consoled in these times of
my adversity. It seemed to my judgment, perhaps warped by sudden
misfortune, that possibly my fiancee regretted her hasty promise, rued
an engagement to one whose affairs had suddenly taken an attitude of so
little promise. I was a poor man now, and worse than poor, because
lately I had been rich, as things went in my surroundings.
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