They were in the parlour of the Westminster house, side by side on a large sofa. Abigail was still fretting over the departure to Holland that day of the man whom she idolised. Her fear was that he had been estranged by her conduct and would dismiss her from his mind and heart. That was something Abigail could never do with him. Daniel Rawson occupied her every waking hour. She could not stop thinking about him, cherishing him, desiring him and constructing imaginary dialogue for the two of them to speak. In running away from him, she was afraid that she had made a fatal mistake.

'Do you think I should write to him?' she asked.

'I'd not advise it, Abigail.'

'But I could apologise for the way I behaved.'

'A young lady should never apologise,' said Dorothy loftily, 'least of all in writing. It could be construed as a sign of weakness. Besides, if anyone should issue an apology, it is Captain Rawson. He led you to believe that he would be in London for some time.'

'He admitted that and was very contrite.'

'I'm still opposed to the notion of a letter.'

'Why is that, Dorothy?'

'To begin with,' said the other, removing her arm from her sister's shoulder, 'there's no guarantee that the letter would reach him. When an army is on the move, correspondence with any member of it is bound to be difficult.'

'I thought of that,' said Abigail, 'and I believe I have the answer. I can ask Father to help me. Lord Godolphin will be in constant touch with the army, wherever it may be. Father will know how letters are sent and can prevail upon the Lord Treasurer's messenger to carry mine with him.'

Dorothy was impressed. 'That's a clever idea,' she said, 'though I still feel it would be unwise of you to write.'

'I have this urge to do so, Dorothy.'