"Doesn't look guilty," muttered Mr. Carden-Cox.
The words sent a slight shock through every nerve, yet she did not visibly wince.
"I wonder if—" she began, looking towards the hall.
"No, no; no hurry—not yet; you said yourself, better wait. Interviews shouldn't be interrupted—important interviews. Duncan knows what he is about; doesn't want our advice. Eh? Sit still. What's the matter?" with a suspicious glance, which brought her instantly to quiescence.
She let one hand drop upon the other, and waited.
"I say, Fulvie, do you know anything of these precious postscripts?"
"Anything!" Fulvia repeated calmly, with a lift of her eyebrows. "I know that you must have been in a very mixed state of mind when you sent them off."
"Tut, tut! Do you know anything of the missing one?"
Fulvia could not, with all her will, prevent a fluttering blush. It deepened slowly. "I did not even know that one had been missed," she said, carefully truthful thus far.
"Of course it has. Now, you needn't keep staring towards the study. Time enough for that when Duncan comes out. Just listen to me. Daisy understands, and I want you to understand. I wrote four letters, and put them out in order on my desk; and I wrote four postscripts, putting one inside each envelope. Mind one into each! I'm as sure of that as I am of—well, of anything!" a particular simile failing him. "One postscript into each envelope, taking them in a regular succession. By some extraordinary fatality I put the wrong postscripts into the wrong envelopes. Can't imagine how. Never was guilty of such an absurdity in my life before. However, there it is! Each went to the wrong individual. Three have turned up, and the fourth hasn't!"