the noble mansion of
Cobhurst. She was enjoying the scene and allowing her mind to revel in
the future she had planned for herself. She was not even thinking of
the dinner. Presently there drove into the grounds a boy in a
bowl-shaped trotting-wagon, bringing a telegram for Mr. Haverley. La
Fleur went to meet him.

"He is not at home," she said.

"Well," said the boy, "there is seventy-five cents to pay, and perhaps
there is an answer."

"Are you sure the message was not prepaid?" asked La Fleur, suspiciously.

"Oh, the seventy-five cents is for delivery," said the boy. "We deliver
free in town, but we can't come way out here in the country for nothing.
Isn't there somebody here who can 'tend to it?"

La Fleur drew a wallet from her pocket. "I will pay you," she said;
"but if there is an answer you should take it back with you. Can't you
wait a bit?"

"No," said the boy, "I can't. I shall be away from the office too long
as it is."

La Fleur was in a quandary; there was no one at home but herself; a
telegram is always important; very likely an immediate answer was
required; and here was an opportunity to send one. If the message were
from his sister, there might be something which she could answer. At any
rate, it was an affair that must not be neglected, and Mr. Haverley had
gone off with his fishing-rod, and no one knew when he would get back.

"Wait one minute," she said to the boy, and she hurried into the kitchen
with the telegram. She put on her spectacles and looked at it; the
envelope was very slightly fastened. No doubt this was something that
needed attention, and the boy would not wait. Telegrams were not like
private letters, anyway, and she would take the risk. So she opened the
envelope without tearing it, and read the message. First she was
frightened, and then she was puzzled.

"Well, I can't answer that," she said, "and I suppose he will go as soon
as he gets it."

She laid the telegram on the kitchen table and went out to the impatient
boy, and told him there was no answer. Whereupon he departed at the top
of his pony's speed.

La Fleur returned to the kitchen and reread the telegram. The signature
was not very legible, and in her first hasty reading she had not made it
out, but now she deciphered it.

"Panney!" she exclaimed, "R. Panney! I believe it is from that tricky old
woman!" And with her elbows on the table she gave herself up to the study
of the telegram. "I never saw anything