The Mission of a Letter

After the curtain had fallen--fallen and lifted, again and again, to
permit of her standing in the glare, smiling happily, and kissing her
hands toward the enthusiastic multitude--he passed out with the others,
still partially dazed, his mind remaining undecided, irresolute. With
the cool night air fanning his cheeks as their car rolled southward,
clearer consciousness came back, bringing with it firmer resolve. She
had not wanted him; in all those years there had not come from her a
single word. Now, on this night of her triumph, in the midst of family
rejoicing, he had no part. It had all been a mistake, a most unhappy
mistake, yet he would do now everything in his power to remedy it. His
further presence should not be allowed to detract from her happiness,
should not continue to embarrass her. The past between them was dead;
undoubtedly she wished it dead. Very well, then, he would help her to
bury it, now and forever. Not through any neglect on his part should
that past ever again rise up to haunt her in the hour of success. She
had discovered her ideal, she had attained to the height of her
ambition. She should be left to enjoy the victory undisturbed. Within
the hotel rotunda, under the multicolored lights, he halted Craig,
hurrying forward to a conference with the steward.

"I am awfully sorry, old man," he explained apologetically, "but the
fact is, I do not feel well enough to remain down here to the spread.
Nothing serious, you know--indigestion or something like that. I 'll
run up to my room and lie down for a while; if I feel better I may
wander in later."