The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. He was almost paralyzed with nervousness and desire. The tears flowed faster. Mr. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. Then he understood. I'll call for you after lunch. When I'm alone I don't mind.
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