My spirits were so glum I almost overlooked the two letters waiting on my writing table.
When I did see them, my heart gave one of those painful thumps, and I wondered if these were letters of rejection. The top one had my name written out in a bold, slanting hand, with flourishing letter-ends and underlining. I pulled it open.
Named were several people, all of whom I knew, and it ended with a promise of undying admiration. It was signed Could it be an elaborate joke, with me as the butt, as a kind of revenge for my social lapse? I reread the note several times, dismissing automatically the caressing tone--I knew it for more of his flirtatious style. Finally I realized that I did not see Tamara's name among the guests, though just about all of the others had been at the party the night before.
A cold sensation washed through me. I had the feeling that if anyone was being made a butt, it was not Meliara Astiar, social lapse notwithstanding.
I turned to the next letter and was glad to see the plain script of my Unknown:
And it ended there. Two utterly unexpected communications. The only facts that seemed certain were that the Unknown had been at that party and like Savona {maybe it was he?} had sat up very late penning this letter. Or both letters.
I needed very much to think these things out.
When I did see them, my heart gave one of those painful thumps, and I wondered if these were letters of rejection. The top one had my name written out in a bold, slanting hand, with flourishing letter-ends and underlining. I pulled it open.
Named were several people, all of whom I knew, and it ended with a promise of undying admiration. It was signed Could it be an elaborate joke, with me as the butt, as a kind of revenge for my social lapse? I reread the note several times, dismissing automatically the caressing tone--I knew it for more of his flirtatious style. Finally I realized that I did not see Tamara's name among the guests, though just about all of the others had been at the party the night before.
A cold sensation washed through me. I had the feeling that if anyone was being made a butt, it was not Meliara Astiar, social lapse notwithstanding.
I turned to the next letter and was glad to see the plain script of my Unknown:
And it ended there. Two utterly unexpected communications. The only facts that seemed certain were that the Unknown had been at that party and like Savona {maybe it was he?} had sat up very late penning this letter. Or both letters.
I needed very much to think these things out.
( Sherwood Smith )
[ Court Duel ]
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