"Father is writing in the study, and the boys are at their prep. still. Lance wants me to help him presently."
"Then, pray, go; don't mind about me. Lance must not lose his place in his classes on any account. Do go at once, Ethel."
Mrs. Elvey spoke in an injured tone, as if it were unkind of Ethel to leave her; but this was so usual a state of things that Ethel hardly noticed the manner. She folded up her work, and sped into the hall just as the postman dropped a letter into the box.
"For me," she said, taking it out. "From Mr. Carden-Cox. About the magic-lantern, of course. I am glad he has answered quickly. Well, Lance," as the boy ran past, "do you want me?"
"Not for five minutes," Lance answered.
The boys did their "prep." in the little old schoolroom. Ethel turned into the dining-room to read her letter, standing under the gas, which had been left alight. The remains of the evening meal, a dinner-tea, were on the table still. Post arrived at the Rectory somewhat later than at the Grange, Church Square coming at the end of a certain "beat."
She went through the sheet first, amused at the amount of talk about nothing; then came to the postscript, with a little laugh at the "N.B." Puzzlement followed quickly. "What did I say about Nigel? I can't remember. What does he mean? 'Not to trouble my head'—well, but I don't. 'Such matters!'—I can't understand. 'Nigel to marry some day'—yes, very likely; anybody might suppose that."
A pink spot found its way to her cheek. Did Mr. Carden-Cox imagine that she was running after Nigel, and wish to administer a friendly warning? Impossible, surely!—and yet—"He is so odd! He might mean it," faltered Ethel, glad that nobody was present to remark her looks. "But I should not have expected it from him."
She read on slowly, bewildered still. "Fulvia calling for Nigel at night—" quite natural after the shock she had had. But could Mr. Carden-Cox really suppose that she, Ethel, would tell Nigel, even if she had known the fact? What was it that Mr. Browning and Mr. Carden-Cox wanted for Nigel? And who was this "other good girl"?
"Fulvia, no doubt," thought Ethel. "'It wouldn't do!' What wouldn't do? 'Nigel marry in opposition to his father!'—No, indeed; nothing less likely." But what had made Mr. Carden-Cox write all this to Ethel? Was he demented?