"My dearest boy. Nothing will make me believe that this odious woman
can take my place in your heart. I send some of the letters you wrote
me when we first met; and I ask you to read them. They will recall
what you felt when you wrote them. You cannot have changed so much as
to be indifferent to me: whoever may have struck your fancy for the
moment, your heart is still mine"--and so on: you know the sort of
thing--"Ever and always your loving Julia." (The Colonel sinks on the
chair and covers his face with his hand.) You don't suppose she's
serious, do you: that's the sort of thing she writes me three times a
day. (To Cuthbertson) Grace is in earnest though, confound it. (He
holds out Grace's letter.) A blue card as usual! This time I shall not
trust the waste paper basket. (He goes to the fire, and throws the
letters into it.)

CUTHBERTSON (facing him with folded arms as he comes down again). May
I ask, Mr. Charteris, is this the New Humour?

CHARTERIS (still too preoccupied with his own difficulty to have any
sense of the effect he is producing on the others). Oh, stuff! Do you
suppose it's a joke to be situated as I am? You've got your head so
stuffed with the New Humour and the New Woman and the New This, That
and the Other, all mixed up with your own old Adam, that you've lost
your senses.

CUTHBERTSON (strenuously). Do you see that old man, grown grey in the
honoured service of his country, whose last days you have blighted?

CHARTERIS (surprised, looking at Craven and realizing his distress
with genuine concern). I'm very sorry. Come, Craven; don't take it to
heart. (Craven shakes his head.) I assure you it means nothing: it