interval. The footman reappeared, leaving the
place. There was another interval. Then there came a knock at the door.
Anne hesitated. The knock was repeated, and the dumb murmuring of Hester
Dethridge was heard outside. Anne opened the door.

Hester came in with the breakfast. She pointed to a letter among other
things on the tray. It was addressed to Anne, in Geoffrey's handwriting,
and it contained these words:

"My father died yesterday. Write your orders for your mourning. The
boy will take them. You are not to trouble yourself to go to London.
Somebody is to come here to you from the shop."

Anne dropped the paper on her lap without looking up. At the same moment
Hester Dethridge's slate was passed stealthily between her eyes and the
note--with these words traced on it. "His mother is coming to-day. His
brother has been telegraphed from Scotland. He was drunk last night.
He's drinking again. I know what that means. Look out, missus--look
out."

Anne signed to her to leave the room. She went out, pulling the door to,
but not closing it behind her.

There was another ring at the gate bell. Once more Anne went to the
window. Only the lad, this time; arriving to take his orders for the
day. He had barely entered the garden when he was followed by the
postman with letters. In a minute more Geoffrey's voice was heard in
the passage, and Geoffrey's heavy step ascended the wooden stairs. Anne
hurried across the room to draw the bolts. Geoffrey met her before she
could close the door.

"A letter for you," he said, keeping scrupulously out of the room. "I
don't wish to force your inclinations--I only request you to tell me who
it's from."

His manner was as carefully subdued as ever. But the unacknowledged
distrust in him (when he looked at her) betrayed itself in his eye.

She glanced at the handwriting on the address.

"From Blanche," she answered.

He softly put his foot between the door and the post--and waited until
she had opened and read Blanche's letter.

"May I see it?" he asked--and put in his hand for it through the door.

The spirit in Anne which would once have resisted him was dead in her
now. She handed him the open letter.

It was very short. Excepting some brief expressions of fondness, it
was studiously confined to stating the purpose for which it had been
written. Blanche proposed to visit Anne that afternoon, accompanied by
her uncle, she sent word beforehand, to make sure of finding Anne