"
"What did you do--what did you _dare_ to do?"
"Dare!" Puck mimicked my foolish fury. "'Dare' is such a melodramatic
word from you to me. I can't tell you now what I did, or the message--no
time. But I'm in as much of a hurry as you are. When can I see you
alone?"
I hesitated, because it would be like him to cheat me with some trick,
and chuckle at my rage. I couldn't see how a message from Paul Herter
for me had reached Julian O'Farrell, unless he'd intercepted a letter.
It seemed far more likely that Puck was romancing, yet I felt in my
bones and heart and solar plexus that he wasn't! I simply _had_ to
know--and in a flurry, before Mother Beckett and Dierdre were upon us, I
said, "This afternoon, at three, when Mrs. Beckett is having her nap.
I'll meet you in the garden of the hotel."
Though I dash along with this story of mine, Padre, as if I went
straight on describing the scene between Julian and me from beginning to
end, without a break, it isn't really so. I've been interrupted more
than once, and may be again; but I shall tell you everything that's
happened since we came to Amiens, as if I wrote consecutively. You can
understand better in that way, and help me with your strength and love,
through your understanding, as I feel you do help, whenever I make you
my confessions. Since I've begun to write you, as in old days when you
were in the flesh, I've felt your advice come to me in electric flashes.
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