rumpled
paper, lying lost between the table and the wall. It was the letter from
Geoffrey, which Anne had flung from her, in the first indignation of
reading it--and which neither she nor Arnold had thought of since.

"What's that I see yonder?" muttered Mr. Bishopriggs, under his breath.
"Mair litter in the room, after I've doosted and tidied it wi' my ain
hands!"

He picked up the crumpled paper, and partly opened it. "Eh! what's here?
Writing on it in ink? and writing on it in pencil? Who may this belong
to?" He looked round cautiously toward Arnold and Anne. They were both
still talking in whispers, and both standing with their backs to him,
looking out of the window. "Here it is, clean forgotten and dune with!"
thought Mr. Bishopriggs. "Noo what would a fule do, if he fund this?
A fule wad light his pipe wi' it, and then wonder whether he wadna ha'
dune better to read it first. And what wad a wise man do, in a seemilar
position?" He practically answered that question by putting the letter
into his pocket. It might be worth keeping, or it might not; five
minutes' private examination of it would decide the alternative, at the
first convenient opportunity. "Am gaun' to breeng the dinner in!" he
called out to Arnold. "And, mind ye, there's nae knocking at the door
possible, when I've got the tray in baith my hands, and mairs the pity,
the gout in baith my feet." With that friendly warning, Mr. Bishopriggs
went his way to the regions of the kitchen.

Arnold continued his conversation with Anne in terms which showed that
the question of his leaving the inn had been the question once more
discussed between them while they were standing at the window.

"You see we can't help it," he said. "The waiter has gone to bring the
dinner in. What will they think in the house, if I go away already, and
leave 'my wife' to dine alone?"

It was so plainly necessary to keep up appearances for the present,
that there was nothing more to be said. Arnold was committing a
serious imprudence--and yet, on this occasion, Arnold was right. Anne's
annoyance at feeling that conclusion forced on her produced the first
betrayal of impatience which she had shown yet. She left Arnold at the
window, and flung herself on the sofa. "A curse seems to follow me!"
she thought, bitterly. "This will end ill--and I shall be answerable for
it!"

In the mean time Mr. Bishopriggs had found the dinner in the kitchen,
ready, and waiting for him. Instead of