Then he drew up a chair and said in low but distinct tones:--
"Look here. I know you want to make me an explanation. Well! It can
wait. A little more of this strain and you'll be having brain
fever. Sleep if you can, and eat all the breakfast Linda sends you
up in the morning. Get up at eleven to-morrow and if you are fit
then to drive out in my motor, return to your chambers. When you
have calmed down to a normal pulse, write to me all you want to
say. No one shall read it but me ... I'll burn it afterwards or
send it back to you under seal. But at the present time, it may be
easier for both of us if our communications are only written and
not spoken. We have both been tried rather high; and both of us are
human, however high-principled. If you write, register the
letter.... Good-night..."
This that follows is probably what Vivie wrote to Michael. He burnt
the long letter when he had finished reading it though he made
excerpts in a pocket-book. But I can more or less correctly surmise
how she would put her case; how she typed it herself in the solitude
of two evenings; how, indeed, her nervous break-down was made the
reason for fending off all clients and denying herself to all
callers.
"I am not David Vavasour Williams. I am Vivien Warren, the daughter
of a woman who runs a series of disreputable Private Hotels on the
Continent.
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