She went into the house, meaning to write to Crayven. But Basil called her into the studio to show her a drawing he had just finished, and presently it was lunch-time. The letter was not written that day, nor the next. After all, why write to him? He had said that he didn't want letters.
But within the week there came a letter to her from Crayven. It had been sent to Switzerland, and forwarded by Nina. As it happened, Teresa was out when the rural postman brought that day's mail ; and Basil, according to his frank custom, opened and read the letter. When Teresa came back from her walk with Ronald, Basil gave it to her, with a number of others, without comment, She sat down on the step and began to look them over. Basil, smoking rather nervously, was walking up and down the verandah. When she came to Crayven's letter and looked at the signature, she changed colour slightly and glanced up at Basil. He met her glance sombrely. She read the letter, which had been written a day or so after Crayven's arrival at his post, and which was rather too expressive. Then she folded it up carefully and glanced up again at Basil.
"I wish you would not open my letters," she said calmly.
"I daresay. I won't in future. I didn't know it was a love-letter. Perhaps you'll tell me, if you don't mind, who the devil is 'Athelstan'?"
