He walked into the breakfast-room of his little palace at Toorak, on a certain spring morning, and, having kissed his children and shaken hands with the governess, sat down to table and propped his newspaper before him. His wife, a smart young lady in a long-tailed lace-frilled gown, poured out his coffee, and his married daughter helped him to fish; for it was a rule of the house to save him all trouble of helping himself or others at this end of the day. The married daughter, Mrs. Oxenham, was rather older than his wife, and was not now a member of the household, but a visitor from a large station in the north-eastern hills; she had come down to meet the mail which was bringing out her brother, Mr. Churchill's eldest son, from home, and the arrival of which at Adelaide had been telegraphed the day before. She was a tall, distinguished-looking woman, a source of great pride and enjoyment to her father, who addressed to her the most of what little conversation he had time for.
"This is curious," he remarked, between two mouthfuls of buttered toast. "Look here, Mary—poor old Liddon's wife, I'll bet you anything. Read this."
She leaned over to him, and looked at the newspaper where he had fixed it to the table with a broad thumb. After a short silence she ejaculated, "Oh, poor things!" It was her comment upon the following advertisement:—
"TO LADIES SHOPPING. Quiet room, with good tea and scones. Open from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. Mrs. Liddon, No. ——, Little Collins Street, W."
"Well," said Mr. Churchill, "it is not our fault. We were ready and willing to assist them."
"As was only right," Mrs. Oxenham murmured, "seeing how long he was with the firm."
"And as good a servant as it ever had. Yes, I felt that it was our duty to do something for the widow and children, and I sent them a little sum—a cheque for a hundred it was—thinking it might be acceptable. You'd have thought so, wouldn't you? I've done it before, dozens of times, and always found 'em grateful. But here—well, they just sent it back by return of post."
"Oh!" A faint flush overspread his daughter's face. "Did you put it nicely, do you think?"
"I didn't put it at all, but it was a very proper letter—I read it before I signed it—speaking most highly of the old fellow's character and services, and all that sort of thing. In fact, they thanked us for what we said of him, and didn't seem to feel insulted—it was a nice little note enough——"
"Whose?"