Words are futile things with which to attempt a description of the
feelings of the girl at the Carlton as she read this, the last letter
of seven written to her through the medium of her maid, Sadie Haight.
Turning the pages of the dictionary casually, one might enlist a
few--for example, amazement, anger, unbelief, wonder. Perhaps, to go
back to the letter a, even amusement. We may leave her with the solution
to the puzzle in her hand, the Saronia a little more than a day away,
and a weirdly mixed company of emotions struggling in her soul.

And leaving her thus, let us go back to Adelphi Terrace and a young man
exceedingly worried.

Once he knew that his letter was delivered, Mr. Geoffrey West took his
place most humbly on the anxious seat. There he writhed through the long
hours of Wednesday morning. Not to prolong this painful picture, let us
hasten to add that at three o'clock that same afternoon came a telegram
that was to end suspense. He tore it open and read: STRAWBERRY MAN: I shall never, never forgive, you. But we are sailing
tomorrow on the Saronia. Were you thinking of going home soon? MARIAN A.
LARNED.

Thus it happened that, a few minutes later, to the crowd of troubled
Americans in a certain steamship booking office there was added a
wild-eyed young man who further upset all who saw him. To weary clerks
he proclaimed in fiery tones that he must sail on the Saronia. There
seemed to be no way of appeasing him. The offer of a private liner would
not have interested him.