Chapter 32

Constance did not reply immediately to Fan's letter, which came to her
with the photograph, but first completed her preparations for leaving
Notting Hill. A visit from her friend was what she most feared, and the
thought of the overwhelming confusion she would feel in the presence of
the guileless girl, and of further and still more painful duplicity on
her part, had the effect of hastening her movements. Before Merton's
enthusiasm had had time to burn itself out--that great blaze which had
nothing but a bundle of wood-shavings to sustain it--they were ready to
depart. But the letter must be written--that sad farewell letter which
for ever or for a long period of time would put an end to their sweet
intercourse; and it was with a heavy heart that Constance set herself to
the task. She herself had gone into the shop to seek an engagement for
her friend, and had been pleased at the result--it had not made a shadow
of difference between them; now, when she thought that she was about to
cast the girl off, although in obedience to her husband's wishes, for
this very thing, her cheeks were on fire with shame, her heart filled
with grief. Brave and honest though she was, she could not in this
instance bear to tell the plain truth. They were hurriedly leaving
Norland Square, she said; they were going away--she did not say how far,
but left the other to infer that it was to a great distance. In their new
home they would be engaged in work which would occupy all their time, all
their thoughts, so that even their correspondence would have to be
suspended.

Their separation would be for a long time--she could not say how long,
but the thought of it filled her with grief, and she had not the courage
to meet Fan to say good-bye. Such partings between dear friends were so
unspeakably sad! There was much more in the letter, and the writer said
all she could to soften the unkind blow she was constrained to inflict.
But when Fan read it, after recovering from her first astonishment, her
heart sank within her. For now it seemed that her second friend, not less
dearly loved than the first, was also lost. A keen sense of loneliness
and desolation came over her, which sadly recalled to her mind the days
when she had wandered homeless and hungry through the streets of
Paddington, and again, long afterwards, when she had been treacherously
enticed away from Dawson Place.

Not until two days after receiving this letter, which she had read a
hundred times and sadly pondered over during the interval, did she write
to Arthur Eden; she could delay writing no longer, since she had promised
to let him know if anything happened at Norland Square. She wrote
briefly, and the reply came very soon.

MY DEAR MISS AFFLECK,

I