I owe everything to you, and I am really grateful to you—ever so grateful.
My hopes raised by the sight of the letter sank again; there was much too much gratitude in it for me. I read it again, trying to read between the lines. There was nothing to read between them; she was ashamed of her seeming thanklessness, and trying to make amends for it; that was all there was to it. But I was pleased that she did not seem to think that her actual anger needed defence; plainly she held to her right to take exception to my lunching with Dorothy Delamere, and I wanted her to hold to that right. But I was vexed and discouraged; I did not want her gratitude; I wanted much more, and above all, I wanted the opportunity of getting much more. To all seeming this opportunity was to be denied me.
I put the letter in my case, and looked at the envelope. The postmark was Euston, and one might post at Euston from Bloomsbury, or from North London, or starting on a journey. Plainly I was to hear no more from her for a long while. Should I set about seeking her? Since I could gain nothing by doing nothing, I would; and action might soothe the restlessness which was beginning to invade me. However, the affairs of the Quorley Granite Company grew pressing and filled my
