On reaching home that afternoon he sat down at once, and this is what he wrote—
My dear Uncle,
"Your letter, which gave me real concern, reached me this morning; sooner, I fancy, than you anticipated, for I am, as you see, still in Paris. Before I explain to you how this has come about, let me say that I await your next with impatience, and shall be ready to return to Gray's Inn at a few hours' notice, if I hear that you are still incapacitated from going there. Indeed, whether or no, you have but to send me a wire, and I start at once.
"Painting, as you know, is my favourite pursuit; and I left London fully determined to work hard in Paris for a few weeks, by which I believed I could gain more than by mountaineering in Switzerland. I said nothing to you of my resolve, fearing that you would disapprove, and try to dissuade me. Accident led me, when looking for a room in the Artists' Quarter here, to a pension, where I found—whom do you think? No other than Miss Shaw. She did not remember my face (indeed, she only saw me once); but, as she might remember my name, and as I had no right, or desire, to disturb her tranquillity by revealing myself as your nephew, I called myself Mr. George, and as such she knows me. Your mind may be at ease about the young lady. She is well in health, much improved in looks, and seems perfectly happy in working hard every day. Her great friends in the pension are an American and his sister, named Baring. But a
