“MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. “She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. “In it lies the secret poison he used to turn you into an Oracle. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand.
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