"Then the other two were not posted. You will most likely find them in your desk."
"I shall most likely do nothing of the sort. The other two were posted." Mr. Carden-Cox was growing irate. "My recollections are perfectly clear. I can distinctly recall putting the four postscripts into the four envelopes, one into each. I tell you I could declare this on oath, in a court of justice. It is a matter of absolute certainty. If the first two went wrong, the third and fourth went wrong also. But somebody has got them—somebody has. No possibility of a mistake there. Ethel and Fulvia have had a postscript each, and not their own postscripts, since you and Daisy received those."
"I saw Ethel within half-an-hour of getting your letter; and the post must have been in at the Rectory. She would surely have told me if there had been a postscript for anybody at home."
"Hallo! This is the girl's own handwriting!" Mr. Carden-Cox was gazing at the note he held.
"Ethel's!"
"Ethel Elvey's, of course. Humph! Why, here it is!" Mr. Carden-Cox held up the half-sheet with his own handwriting.
"Sent back to you, instead of sent on to Daisy," Nigel said quietly; but he had again the chilled sensation. Why had Ethel said nothing to him?—If, indeed, it had arrived when he called.
Mr. Carden-Cox was not commonly supposed to be wanting in reticence; on the contrary, some counted him "a great deal too reserved." But here again there were curious oppositions in his character; and like many reserved people he was capable of running to the other extreme. Being over-excited, he ran now to the other extreme, and forthwith read aloud Ethel's note.
"I don't understand. Who is 'he'?" asked Nigel.
Mr. Carden-Cox glanced at the paragraph again, and burst into an uncomfortable laugh.