"Miss Whitworth had a letter from him this morning," said Jenny. "She wouldn't open it at the breakfast-table, Mr. Harper says. Quite upset she was, he says. She took it upstairs to her room just as it was."
"It might have been from some one else," answered Stella.
"Oh, no, madam," replied Jenny. "It had the Midhurst postmark, and Mr. Harper knows his handwriting besides. Mr. Harper's very observant."
"He seems to be," said Stella.
"Miss Whitworth answered the letter at once, and took it out to the village and posted it with her own hands," Jenny continued.
"Are you sure?" cried Mrs. Croyle.
"I saw her go with my own eyes, I did. She went in her own little runabout, and was back in a jiffy, with a sort of 'There-I've-done-it!' look about her. Oh, there's something going on there, madam—take my word for it! She's a deep one, Miss Whitworth is, and no mistake. Will you wear the smoke-grey to-night, madam? I am keeping the pink for the ball on Thursday."
Stella allowed a moment or two to pass before she answered.
"I shan't go to the Willoughbys' ball, Jenny."
Jenny Prask stared in dismay.