get well. I shall have to write the book, if I write it at all, without further help. By the way, talking about getting better, I know that doctoring bores you, but I want to know how much better I am going to get? I am as weak as a rat; my legs refuse to carry me, my hand shakes when I get a pen in it. I shall get the story into my head from these papers," I added, with something of the depression that I was feeling: "But I don't see how I am to get it out again. I don't see how I shall ever have the strength to put it on paper."
"That will come. There is no hurry about that. As a matter of fact I believe letters are copyright for fourteen years. It isn't twelve yet."
It was not worth while to put him right on the copyright acts.
"You'll be going downstairs next week, you'll be at your writing-table, her writing-table in the drawing-room. You ask me about her early life. I only know her father was a wealthy American absolutely devoted to her. He married for the second time when she was fifteen or sixteen and they both concentrated on her. She was remarkable even as a child, obviously a genius, very beautiful."
"She outgrew that," I said emphatically.
"She was a very beautiful woman," he insisted. And then said more lightly, "You must remember you have only seen her ghost." The retort pleased me and I let the subject of Margaret Capel's beauty